


Dandelion

by TamscendingGender



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexual Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, F/F, Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Fantasy Hate Crimes, Fantasy Racism, Feral Ciri, Geralt Has Albinism Because Fuck You, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Post-Canon, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24374437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TamscendingGender/pseuds/TamscendingGender
Summary: When a run-in with violently prejudiced villagers ends in Jaskier seriously wounded and suffering injuries that should not be affecting him in the way they are, Geralt and Ciri confront the reality that they might not know everything about their bard's past. The journey to the healing avalible in Brokilon forest is a long one, and no one is sure what they will find in the forest, but if they want to save Jaskier's life they must confront whatever is waiting there for them.In classic me fashion, I've taken aspects wholesale from the books and the show and mixed them together into my wonderful stew of authorly evil. CW for: fantasy racism, intense familial conflict and overprotective parents, and illness.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 33
Kudos: 316





	1. Go not to the hills of Erin

**Author's Note:**

> Come and find me on tumblr @tamisnotagirl and @accessiblewitcher! Yell at me in the comments! Thank you so much for reading!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A supply stop goes horribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go not to the hills of Erin  
> When the night winds are about;  
> Put up your bar and shutter  
> And so keep the danger out. -Dora Sigerson, “The Wind on the Hills”
> 
> Hello and welcome to this weird little fic I've written! I love the concept of fae!Jask and I was considering writing something goofy and sweet, but of course that turned into pain and angst because I'm me. As per usual, I'm using something outside of my own brain for chapter titles: in this case, poetry about faeries and adjacent themes. You'll always find the quotes and poem titles at the beginning of the notes! I'll be posting every day until this is posted completely. Thank you for reading!

The road was packed firm from the marching feet of hundreds of thousands of travellers going to and fro between cities. It was the only main road that went through the woods in that area, by virtue of it needing to connect the two villages on either side of the forest. At this time of year, with summer turning into fall and the harvest ripening to be taken to market, the roads were usually busy, but that afternoon the road was almost completely empty. Almost, but not quite.

“My love, my love, his hair is brown. Fie diddle fie diddle day.”

“His father threw me out of town, oh, fie diddle fie diddle day!” A pair of voices came echoing around the curve of the road, passing the tune of an old folk song back and forth. 

“Oh, fie diddle fie diddle, fie diddle day! Kings and queens and minstriels gay! I swore I would come back one day, sing fie diddle fie diddle day.” 

The singers rounded the bend. A young woman with choppy ash-blond hair that looked like it had been hacked short with a dagger and skin that was still pale despite a life lived outdoors began another verse of the song and carefully steered her dark bay horse around a hole in the road.

“My love, my love, her hair is black. Fie diddle fie diddle day.” 

“She left me and she never looked back, oh, fie diddle fie diddle day!” Riding beside her was a man who could have been a few years or a few decades older than her. His dark brown hair fell to just past his chin and bore the remnants of a recent curling, and he was wearing an unbuttoned blue doublet and a surprisingly simple white shirt. 

“My love, my love, his hair is white. Fie diddle fie diddle day.” The woman grinned impishly over her shoulder at the final horse rider. His hair was white and tied back haphazardly by a blue ribbon, and an old scar was barely visible against his pale face. He sighed a long-suffering sigh as the other man finished the verse.

“He keeps me up most every night, oh, fie diddle fie diddle day!”

“That was better than last time you two sang this song.” Geralt of Rivia commented. “Although, it isn’t hard to come up with a better ending for that verse than what you sang last time.” 

“Oh, come on, Geralt, you liked that verse.” Jaskier said, pouting. 

“It was a true verse.” Ciri called over her shoulder. Geralt sighed again. There was no arguing with his daughter or with his lover. He had chosen to make his family with some of the most stubborn people on the continent.

“Oh, fie diddle fie diddle, fie diddle day! Kings and queens and minstriels gay! I swore I would come back one day, sing fie diddle fie diddle day.” Jaskier sang to himself, bouncing his head to the rhythm of the song. 

“Are there any more verses to that song?” Geralt wondered, glancing past Jaskier and at the fuzzy mass of green in the distance that was either the forest or some kind of horrible green monster. 

“There can be.” Jaskier said cheerfully. “ _ My love, my love, her hair is green…. _ ”

“She wishes that she can’t be seen!” Ciri echoed.

“Fie diddle fie diddle hey.” Geralt added in a deadpan, and Jaskier frowned at him.

“You are terrible.” he said, shaking his head and pulling a face at his lover. “Bringing the mood down like that. Shameful!”

“We should probably stop singing anyway.” Ciri said. “We’re almost to the forest, and we don’t know what kinds of monsters could be waiting there.” As she spoke, the trees rose up abruptly in front of them. It was a fairly open forest, and the road was wide enough that Geralt could mostly determine which part of the mass of varying colored brown blobs was the trees and which was the road. The dim light was a nice break from the unfiltered sunlight they had been riding through during the day. Geralt could have put on the dark glasses Vesemir had made him when he had first ridden out on the Trail, but he had forgotten to until they were on the road and now it was too late.

“It’s quiet here.” Ciri observed after they had ridden in silence for a few minutes. “Too quiet.” She lowered her voice as if they were riding through a graveyard. “I haven’t seen any animals since we came in here.”

“I haven’t either.” Geralt said, not able to resist the joke. 

“Haha,” Ciri said, turning and making a goofy face at him. “Seriously, though. There aren’t any animals on the road, and we usually see at least a squirrel or two.” 

“I can’t hear anything in the bushes.” Geralt added. “I can’t hear anything at all.” He rubbed his thumbs over the reins, glancing into the green and brown blur of the trees. Something was not right in these woods. 

“Something’s missing.” Ciri declared finally. “Something is missing from this forest, and I don’t know what it is.” 

“We can stop at the village and ask around.” Geralt said. He didn’t always like stopping while they were on the road, but this was a special circumstance. Something had happened to the creatures that lived in the forest, and he needed to know if there was something he could do.

“It’s probably fine.” Jaskier had not spoken since they had entered the trees. He sounded tense. “We should keep riding if we want to sleep in a bed by nightfall. It’s just the right distance to the next village from here.” There was something frantic and anxious about the way he offered this suggestion.

“Jask, we won’t be there for that long.” Geralt said soothingly. “And even if we are there for long, it should be a clear night tonight. If something that we can deal with is the reason behind this strangeness, then we should offer our services. 

“I think it’s probably overhunting.” Jaskier said, turning to look at Geralt. “All the animals were killed by enthusiastic poachers and now everything is silent. That’s not a witcher issue, is it?”

“Well, no, but we should be certain it’s that and not something else.” Geralt said. Jaskier twisted his reins around his hands.

“You’re right.” he said, but Geralt could tell that he was not happy about this decision. He would talk to him about it later, once they had stopped in town. They needed more supplies, anyways, and even if Jaskier was right, it would still be beneficial to stop. 

“Jaskier.” Geralt called softly, his voice carrying through the silent air. Jaskier slowed his horse down so he was riding next to Geralt. “Is everything all right? You seem…” He couldn’t find a word that really described Jaskier’s mood. “...anxious.” 

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” Jaskier responded too quickly for Geralt to believe him. “This forest is, it’s just, it’s weird. And I don’t like it.”

“Hmm.” Geralt studied his lover’s face, but there were no clues hidden there. He sighed and reached across the gap between their horses to take Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier gave it a comforting squeeze.

“Don’t worry about me, Geralt.” he said softly. “Everything is fine.” They continued in silence, listening hard for anything that would indicate that there was something normal in this forest. 

The village on the other side of the silent woods was a small one. It, too, was silent, although not in the same way as the forest. A few people scurried across their paths, keeping their heads down. Geralt and Jaskier exchanged a look. 

“I don’t like this.” Ciri whispered as they pulled up to the hitching post outside of the small, ramshackle general store. “Why is everyone looking at us like we’re going to kill them?” Geralt didn’t know. He took Jaskier’s elbow as they walked inside, mostly because he didn’t trust the store to not have crates and bags on the floor waiting for an unsuspecting blind witcher’s foot, but also to give some measure of emotional support to the bard. The store was mostly empty; there was a man leaning against the counter talking to the proprietor, and a woman was inspecting boxes of flour while a small child clung to her skirts and stared at the newcomers. 

“Ciri, go find more bandages and leather. Oh, and see if they have thread. We need to do some mending.” Geralt said, mentally listing the things they had run out of since their last supply run. “Jaskier and I will get the bread and dried meat and fruit.”

“I think it’s down that way.” Jaskier pointed down an aisle and led the way towards the stacks of boxes of food. They gathered about a month’s worth of food and added three loaves of bread to the pile in Geralt’s arms. When they returned to the counter, Ciri had already set a bundle of cotton bandages, an assortment of leather, and a box of variously colored thread in front of the proprietor. The man who had been talking to him had moved to the side, and he was watching Ciri with interest. 

“You’re a witcher, aren’t you?” he was saying when Jaskier and Geralt came up and stacked their intended purchases next to the rest of the supplies. “I didn’t think they let women turn.”

“I am a witcher.” Ciri said, folding her arms and frowning at him. “What of it?”

“We’ve been having some troubles in these parts, troubles we could use a witcher for.” the man continued, glancing at Geralt and Jaskier. “Are you two witchers?” He frowned at Jaskier’s open doublet.

“I am.” Geralt said, stacking the correct amount of coin in front of the money box with an intense focus. He turned to the man, taking in the lack of ragged edges on his shirt and the unpatched state of his pants. “We were passing through the forest, and we thought it...unusual. Is that what you’re referring to when you speak of troubles?” Jaskier had wandered away to look at something on a shelf nearby, and Geralt could hear him sucking in a breath. 

“Ah, you’ve seen our enchanted forest!” the proprietor exclaimed, pausing in helping Ciri fill the saddlebag she had brought in.

“Seen is a strong word.” Geralt muttered, and the man gave him a strange look.

“Yes, the bloody enchanted forest.” he said, and spat on the floorboards. “Enchanted makes it seem like a happy place.”

“It didn’t seem very happy.” Geralt agreed. “What about it makes it enchanted?” 

“The goddamn fairies haunting the trees.” the man said, and Geralt stared. The forest had seemed exactly the opposite of a forest inhabited by the fae. He had been in Brokilon, and those woods had been bursting with life and magic. 

“Oh?” he said. Ciri finished packing the saddlebag and slung it over her shoulder. She came to stand just behind Geralt’s shoulder. 

“They’ve been there long as anyone can remember, and it’s about time we got rid of the fucking monsters.” the man continued. “Spoiling our milk, taking our children and leaving changelings in their place...we’re sick of it! And now they’ve hidden the whole forest under a glamor or whatever that shit is called, so there aren’t any wildlife to be found.”

“I think it’s because Frydrich killed his son.” the shopkeeper mused. “They want to protect themselves from more retaliation.”

“That creature wasn’t Frydrich’s son any more than I’m a goat.” the man corrected, slamming a hand down on the counter. “They’ve been tormenting us for too long, and right when things get really bad, a pair of witchers come riding into town. It’s perfect!” 

“What are you asking us to do?” Geralt asked slowly, a sick feeling rising in his stomach. He had an idea of what it was, and he didn’t like it.

“Kill the fucking fairies, of course.” the man said, and there was a terrible shattering noise. They turned in unison to stare at Jaskier, who was standing and staring at what was probably a pile of shattered glass. Geralt couldn’t tell what he had been looking at, but somehow he must have dropped something. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, and hurried past the man to get to the bard, stepping in the pile of glass in the process. “What happened? Are you ok?” He took Jaskier’s hands into his own. They were shaking worse than was really reasonable for a simple dropped glass object. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Jaskier shook his head and leaned his face against Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt stroked his hair and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of his head. 

“I’m ok.” Jaskier said finally, taking a deep breath and stepping away from Geralt. “It just startled me, is all.” Geralt squeezed his hands and bent to attempt to clean up the glass. Ciri let out a long-suffering sigh and came over.

“Geralt, remember what happened last time you tried to pick broken glass up?” she asked, deftly sweeping up the shards with her gloved hands. “When I had to sew your hand back together?”

“That was an accident, and you did not have to sew my entire hand back together.” Geralt sighed, standing up. Jaskier was at the counter, talking to the store’s owner and apologizing in his Jaskier way for dropping the vase. 

“So, what’s your answer?” The glass-dropping incident had not phased the man who wanted to kill the fae at all. 

“No.” Geralt said shortly, taking Jaskier’s hand and turning to leave. “I kill monsters.”

“But–”

“The fae are not monsters.” Geralt interrupted, anticipating where this was going. “They are people, and I do not kill people. I know monsters, and I know evil.” He stared directly into the man’s face, hoping he had guessed correctly which black blobs were his eyes. “And I know bigotry, too. Come on, Ciri, Jask. Let’s go.” He turned to leave, but the man lunged forward and grabbed the edge of his bracer.

“You’ll pay for this, witcher.” he hissed. Geralt pulled his arm away. “We don’t like fairies here, and we also don’t like those who protect them. Oh, you will  _ pay _ .” Geralt stared at him in disgust, then turned and marched out of the store.

“What the hell was his problem?” Ciri asked as she threw the saddlebag over her horse’s back. Jaskier still looked shell-shocked, but he wasn’t shaking as badly as he had been.

“Let’s get out of here.” Geralt said. They swung up into their saddles and rode down the main street. Geralt glanced back at the general store and saw the man standing in the street, watching them. 

“Shit, Geralt, we forgot to replenish the herbs.” Ciri said as they came level with the last house on the street. “Where’s the apothecary?”

“I think I saw it back there somewhere.” Jaskier said in a quiet voice. “A couple stores down.” Geralt turned Roach around and let Jaskier lead the way to the small store. They tied their horses up in the small alley between the apothecary and the house next to it, out of sight of the main street. “I’m going to stay out here, to keep an eye out.” Jaskier murmured, catching Geralt’s hand for a moment. Geralt nodded and followed Ciri into the store. It was small, and consisted of a small front area and a wide counter between them and the rest of the store. The woman sitting at the counter smiled at them. 

“What can I get you two?” she asked. Ciri began to list off the herbs they needed, and Geralt went to look at the shelf of charms and amulets on the wall. They ranged from contraceptive to protection from evil. None of them were related to the fae.

“Do these people really let magic stay in their town when they’re so afraid of the fae?” he wondered aloud, mostly to himself.

“Magic is different when it helps them.” the woman behind the counter said over the quiet thumping of her pestle. “Fae magic took too many of our children.”

“Did it?” Geralt put down the love charm he had been studying up close and turned to look at her. “Was it really the fae who stole the children, or are you all just that prejudiced against people who act differently?” The pharmacist poured the herbs she had been grinding into an envelope and added it to the pile of bundles she was placing in front of Ciri.

“It is hard to tell, sometimes.” she said softly. “Frydrich’s son was human. Hannah’s baby was fae. My Kellen was human.” Geralt stared at her in horror. “I did not kill him, witcher.” the woman said, staring at him. “They took him when I was in the woods, gathering herbs, back when you could find anything. It will not be long before they take me.”

“What is wrong with people?” Ciri burst, tossing the herbs into the designated pouch with an angry and emphatic gesture. 

“They are afraid.” the woman said. “They are afraid, and they don’t know a better way to protect themselves. So they find the people who come closest to the thing they fear, and they are ruthless in their eradication of the threat. If they do not destroy us all, the fae will come for us at last and exact their revenge. There have been more real changelings killed than humans.” 

“I think it’s time for us to go.” Ciri said. She looked sickened by the information they had gained. “We should leave this horrible town far behind us and never come back.” The door slammed open, and Jaskier appeared in the doorway. His eyes were wide.

“There’s a mob coming.” he said. “They’re coming here.” 

“Fuck.” Geralt growled. “How many?” 

“I don’t know, it’s a mob!” Jaskier exclaimed, his voice shooting up an octave. 

“There’s a back door.” the woman said. “Hop on over and I’ll show you.” Ciri vaulted over with one hand, and Geralt followed her before giving Jaskier a hand over. They followed the pharmacist back through a narrow hallway and to the back door. “You can run around and get your horses.” the woman said. “Go, quick! And gods bless you.” They hurried out into a small yard populated with plots of herbs and vegetables, and Ciri led the way around and to the horses.

“Shit. The main road is the fastest way to get out.” Ciri said, mounting Kelpie and looking around. “We’re trapped.” Geralt could hear the mob drawing closer. They were still about four houses away, but he was certain he could hear more people coming from other directions. There was so much happening.

“I have a plan.” Jaskier said suddenly. He had been fingering Pegasus’ mane with a strange expression on his face, but now he seemed to have resolved himself to something. “I think, if you keep going down this alley, you’ll come out onto another street. They’re not down there. You’ll be safe.” He pulled his doublet off and tucked it into his saddlebags

“Jask, what are you doing?” Geralt stared at him. “You’re not…”

“I have a plan.” Jaskier repeated. “They won’t be able to get me.” The grim set of his jaw told Geralt another story. “Just...don’t turn back until you’re far out of town. Don’t stop, don’t try and come back for me. I’ll get out, and I’ll be able to find you.”

“Jask–” Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s hands and looked him directly in the eyes.

“If everything….” he trailed off. “Remember that I love you. If it all goes to shit, remember that. I love you, Geralt of Rivia.” Geralt started to say something else, but Jaskier cupped his face and kissed him deeply. “Go!” he exclaimed when Geralt didn’t move, then turned and disappeared into the daylight of the main street.

“Geralt, let’s go.” Ciri nudged Kelpie down the alley. Geralt pulled himself into the saddle and reached over to tie Pegasus’ reins to his saddle. “Geralt!” Roach started to follow Kelpie away from the sudden increase in screaming from the mob, and Geralt pulled his gaze away from the blur of the street. When they reached the other street, this one empty and lined with quiet houses, Ciri kicked Kelpie into a canter, and Roach and Pegasus followed her. 

They turned off the road into the forest on the other side of the village and found a clearing that was covered enough. It was about fifteen minutes out. Geralt dismounted, but began pacing the circle of the clearing, staring out at the blur of brown and green that marked where the road was. 

“Geralt?” Ciri was sitting on a rock in the center of the clearing, peeling bark off of a stick. Geralt didn’t respond. “Geralt, why was Jaskier so confident that he could get away from a mob?”

“Why are you asking me?” Geralt snapped, turning on his heel and staring at his daughter. “Ask that  _ stupid _ bard.”

“Are you going to go after him?”

“If he’s not back within the hour.” Geralt said. He was terrified for what could be happening to Jaskier, but he trusted that Jaskier’s plan required only Jaskier to be there to go off with a hitch. But what if they had caught him? What if they were tearing him to pieces at that very moment? He was so preoccupied that he forgot to step carefully and bashed his foot against a root.

“Fuck.” he grunted, stepping over the offending object and continuing his circling. Ciri had taken the saddles and luggage off of the horses and was rubbing Kelpie down. Roach began to methodically tear grass up. A bird began chirping in a tree nearby, and Geralt sighed, relieved that this forest wasn’t dead like the other one. There were no fairies here to be angry at the humans of the region.

“We used to tell stories about the fae in Cintra.” Ciri said, moving on to Roach. “Our stores were always so happy. Brownies cleaning the cupboards and kindly sprites giving wishes. The occasional knight would come back with a story about the good things they had been given by the fae. I didn’t know people were so...hateful.” 

“Do you have changeling stories in Cintra?” Geralt asked. 

“Of course we do, but no one reacted like this to them.” Ciri said, pausing in her work. “You just had to leave milk out for the fae and your child would be back within the week. We don’t go in for…” She trailed off.

“It’s strange.” Geralt said. “Your grandmother slaughtered the elves, but she never laid a finger on the fae.”

“It’s like what that woman said.” Ciri said, shrugging. “Magic is different when it helps you.” She returned to currying Roach. Geralt completed his lap of the perimeter and stared out past the blur of the woods to the thin strip of what he thought might be the road.

“I’m going after him.” he said finally. “I don’t care what plan he has, it’s been too long.” Ciri patted Roach’s rump and went to pull the horse hair out of her brush. Geralt resaddled his horse and swung up onto it. “Stay here with the horses. I’ll be back soon.” He nudged Roach into a walk and let her make her way through the trees. His horses over the years had always been good at finding their way around obstacles. There had been a few times when his horse had been flighty or unable to function without a human’s firm directions, but those horses had not lasted long. His current Roach was a clever horse, and when he nudged her into a canter she knew to keep to the center of the road and not stop. 

People were usually surprised when they found out Geralt was blind. It had taken Jaskier at least a month to figure it out, and even then it had taken Geralt asking him to read the small print on a bottle to hammer the notion in. Yen had known after a week, but she was observant. He was not sure when Ciri had figured it out. Geralt had gotten used to fielding questions about why the mutations of becoming a witcher had not given him his sight, and how it was possible that a lone blind man could survive for centuries fighting monsters. Sometimes it was a blessing; Geralt was still not entirely sure what kikimores looked like, despite many attempts by his loved ones to capture the sheer horrible nature of the monsters. He had learned to live with it. At this moment, riding towards a village where he was certain his lover was being torn apart by a mob of bloodthirsty bigots, Geralt hoped silently that none of the villagers had figured out that if they hid Jaskier behind something, he wouldn’t be able to easily find him. 

They reached the edge of town, and Geralt dismounted. He trusted Roach to wait for him. She was a good and loyal horse. 

“I’ll be back. With Jaskier.” he told her, patting her neck, and strode down the center of the road. He was not going to use his sword. The villagers would be more than a match for a bare-handed witcher, and he did not really want to become the butcher of another town. He would save the sword for the bastard who had tried to get him to kill the fae of the forest. That man deserved what he would get from Geralt, especially if they had done something to Jaskier. 

As he walked further into the down, he saw a blob of what he was pretty sure were people clustered around a ramshackle grain store. He drew closer and heard the voice of the man from the general store echoing over the crowd.

“We did not get the cowardly, fairy-fucking witcher and his little sidekick at first, but he will certainly come back, and then we will be able to rid this world of a few more monsters.” the man shouted, and the crowd shouted something unintelligible. “Yes, we will do the work he should be doing for him! And the creature playing at being human in there, we will kill it slowly, with rods of iron.” Geralt began to run towards the crowd. When he reached it, people tried to grab at him, screaming obscenities, but he threw them aside. He waded through the mass of people, smashing faces with his elbows and using his arms as much as possible. The people began to part before his ruthless anger, ducking away from his fists and the rage boiling in his face. 

There were myths that witchers could curse a person with their eyes, and Geralt was certain that these townspeople would believe that story after this. He reached the front of the crowd and found the man from the store standing on a crate before the small building, watching Geralt approaching him. He opened his mouth to say something, but Geralt had already grabbed him by the throat and shoved him into the stone side of the building. He pulled a knife from his belt and pressed it to the man’s stomach. In the songs that would come later, the bards would describe Geralt’s eyes as flaming and his teeth as bared and ready to rip the man’s throat off.

“What have you done with Jaskier, you…” Geralt began to curse the man in every language he could think of, unable to find a properly foul word in Common. The man cowered away from him, and Geralt pressed the knife closer to his stomach. “Talk, you disgusting man.” Geralt spat. The man pointed with a trembling hand towards the grain store. Geralt contemplated gutting him right there, but the muttering of the crowd behind him made him reconsider his decision. He grabbed the keyring he had felt dangling from the man’s belt, ripping the leather holding it up in the process, and threw the man to the side, feeling satisfied by the crunch of bone. The door was right behind the makeshift podium, which was good. Geralt did not need these people to know that his vision was limited. He kicked the wooden door in, not even bothering to use the keys, and stepped inside. 

It did not smell like a grain store anymore. From the layers of old shit and piss and blood that hit Geralt’s nose as he entered, he guessed that the townsfolk had been using it as a prison for a long time. He could barely smell the corn and wheat that had been stored here who knew how long ago. There was a fresher smell of blood in the air, too, and lurking just under that, the scent of sandalwood. Over everything was the sharp scent of iron. Geralt could taste it at the back of his throat, and he had to pause to cover his nose with his shirt. It  _ hurt _ , it was so strong. There were faint strips of light coming down from somewhere in the roof, and after another pause to let his eyes adjust to the new levels of light, he saw Jaskier lying crumpled against the wall.

“Jask.” he breathed, covering the distance between them in two strides and falling to his knees beside the prone man. He had been shot by arrows twice, once in the back of his shoulder and once in his left side, and the townsfolk had not deemed it necessary to take them out. They had also decided that clearly a seriously wounded man was going to pose a dangerous threat if left free to move and had chained Jaskier to the wall by his wrists and ankles. Geralt ran his fingers over the closest manacle and found the keyhole, then began to try the different keys on the ring he had taken from the man. As he fit the final, and correct, key into the hole, Jaskier shifted slightly and let out a soft moan. 

“Shh, it’s just me. It’s me, Jask.” Geralt murmured, freeing Jaskier’s hand and moving on to the next limb. This one was difficult to maneuver, as Jaskier was holding on with determination to the silver rune necklace he wore. “I’m going to get you out of here.” He undid the manacles around the bard’s ankles, noting that for some reason the villagers had taken Jaskier’s boots, and carefully began the process of lifting Jaskier into his arms. Jaskier curled his fingers around the strap of Geralt’s back sheath, whimpering quietly. Geralt kissed him on the top of his head, wishing he had gutted the man. 

The sunlight was almost too bright when he emerged again, but he did not need to worry about keeping an eye on the crowd. They parted before him, their faces watching him with frightened anticipation. When he had cleared the last stragglers in the mob he turned back.

“You had best hope we never come back here again.” Geralt said, allowing his voice to carry over the crowd. “If we do, I will have my revenge for what you have done.” There was a snarl to his voice that he had not intended, but the crowd stepped back as one. “I hope the fairies rot your crops and give you a terrible winter, you fucking  _ bastards! _ ” he spat, screaming the last word. The crowd stumbled backwards as if he had drawn his sword, and Jaskier mumbled something into his shoulder. Geralt turned and strode back through the town to Roach, being careful not to jostle Jaskier. He didn’t realize his hands were shaking until they had started riding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, friends! If you finished this chapter and were like, "But Mr. Author, if Geralt is blind why did the light help him see things?" or something like that, I would like to direct you to this lovely video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CseaTVIJOhY. You'll probably want to fast forward to approximately 7:15, but I would highly recommend watching the whole thing! This is also a good video by the same YouTuber (Molly Burke, go check her out for more good disability content and other regular youtuber things): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oY-VpSQpK-Q. And if you're STILL confused after all that, I don't really know what else to give you to help. Thank you for reading and I hope you stick around for the rest of this fic!!


	2. Silence and love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Ciri discuss what to do next

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give to these children, new from the world,  
> Silence and love;  
> And the long dew-dropping hours of the night,  
> And the stars above. -William Butler Yeats, “Faery Song”

Ciri was sitting cross-legged in the grass sharpening one of her daggers when they returned. She leapt to her feet when she saw Jaskier, a question hovering on her lips. 

“Get water, now.” Geralt barked. She had built the beginnings of a fire, which was good. Less time to pass. Geralt lifted Jaskier off of Roach and laid him on his stomach next to the wood, then pulled his flint and steel out and lit the kindling with a firm slash of the stone. He returned to Jaskier’s side and began to cut his shirt away from the blood that had leaked past the arrowheads. Jaskier would be mad that his shirt was ruined, but it was stained and dirty anyway. Ciri returned with a bucket of water in one hand, which she set on the fire. 

“What happened?” she asked, crouching on the other side of Jaskier and staring between him and Geralt. “What did they  _ do _ ?” Geralt was about to reply that clearly they had shot him when he noticed what she was staring at. He carefully picked Jaskier’s wrist up and examined the place where the manacles had been. “Did they burn him? Fucking  _ bastards _ .”

“No, I don’t think so.” Geralt said slowly, studying the angry red blister encircling his lover’s wrist. It did look like a burn. “Get me the medicine kit.” Ciri hopped up and went to the pile of saddlebags. Geralt regarded the arrows with a grim air, stroking Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier shifted slightly, mumbling quietly. Ciri returned with the pouch in her hands and passed him a few bundles of herbs.

“This is the one for pain, and this one is to keep the wound from getting infected.” she said, naming the herbs as she gave them over. Geralt nodded and tested the water with a finger. It was warm enough. He shredded the herbs for pain into it, being careful to not drop any on the ground. Ciri had picked up the other herbs and began preparing a poultice on the other side of the fire. He was about to shove one of his daggers into the coals when Jaskier caught his arm with a weak hand. 

“Silver.” he whispered, pushing himself on one arm and shuddering. “Not that one. Silver.” He flopped back into the grass. 

“Jask, don’t hurt yourself.” Geralt murmured, returning the dagger to his belt and replacing it in the coals with the silver one, the one he only used for werewolves. He went to Jaskier’s side and helped him up again. Jaskier drained the offered cup, then made a face. “I know.” Geralt said soothingly, stroking his hair. Jaskier leaned his head against Geralt’s shoulder. He was no longer clutching at his necklace. Geralt had never looked close enough to tell what the rune it made was–every time he had been in a position to see it easily, he had been too distracted to really look–but now he wondered more than he ever had. The dagger in the coals had gone a faint black, and Geralt eased Jaskier back down onto the ground and pulled his gloves on to grab the dagger from the fire. “Ciri, I’m going to need you to hold him.” he called, using his other dagger to strip the fletching from the ends of the arrows. Ciri carried her poultice over and set it against one of the stones marking the fire pit. Jaskier was unconscious again, pulled under by the herbs. He had always reacted quickly to medicines, Geralt thought. 

It was over quickly. Both arrows ended up having to be pulled out rather than pushed through, as the one in Jaskier’s shoulder had hit bone, but by some miracle Jaskier only thrashed after the second one. Geralt and Ciri worked as a silent team, applying pressure to the wounds together and passing the work of cleaning and bandaging between themselves. They wrapped the blisters from the manacles lightly for want of a better treatment. Geralt took care of the job of changing Jaskier into clean clothes and tucking him into the bedroll. He pressed a quick kiss to the bard’s forehead and went to join his daughter. 

Ciri had taken the horses down to the stream that flowed past their clearing and was sitting with her boots off and her feet in the water. Geralt sat next to her and followed suit. He had not realized how exhausted he was.

“Those weren’t normal blisters from chains.” Ciri said after they had sat for a long time, watching the minnows swimming around their toes. “I haven’t seen a lot of people who were imprisoned, and I know those weren’t normal. Do you know what they made the chains out of?” 

“I don’t know.” Geralt said quietly. He had a guess, though.

“And the arrow wounds were a lot...I don’t know what the word for it is. I want to say angry, but that feels wrong.” Ciri kicked the water and splashed water over both of their trousers. Geralt had observed the same thing. Even his eyes had been able to see how red and swollen the skin around the wounds was. “And obviously there’s the fact that they did that to him. And that he reacted the way he did to that disgusting dickhead in the general store.” Geralt tore up a few bits of grass and scattered them over the water. “Geralt, do you think Jaskier might not have told us everything about himself?”

“Would you tell someone you were fae after seeing the way people react to your people in this part of the world?” Geralt asked, staring at her. “This wasn’t the first time someone’s asked me to hunt the fae living near their home. This is the worst people have reacted to the fae, but it’s not an outlier. When we were riding to rescue you, however long ago that was, we rescued a girl who was being burned as a witch because people thought she was a changeling. A lot happened that night, but I know Jaskier was ready to kill the people who did that. If things hadn’t gone differently…” He spread his hands. 

“Did you have any idea before now?” Ciri asked, dragging her feet through the stream. 

“I had an idea he was  _ something _ .” Geralt admitted. It was hard to ignore the fact that someone had never aged when you had known them for thirty years. There were other things, too. The way Jaskier could easily charm people into doing things for him. His resilience in battle, despite the fact that by all appearances he had never done a day’s physical labor in his life before choosing to follow a witcher across the continent. The way things seemed to brighten around him when he was happy, and the way everything seemed to grow dark and gloomy when he was angry. Geralt was certain that the first time they had fucked, in an isolated clearing with Roach tearing up the grass a few feet away, there had been flowers growing around them afterwards that had not been there before. He had never acknowledged it, though. There had always been a more reasonable excuse. It was likely he had just not noticed them before. Jaskier was handsome; that had to help his charm. He had been following a witcher for thirty-odd years; that counted for something when it came to physical capability. There was nothing wrong with Geralt’s lover being...magically odd. His other lover was a sorceress, after all. When you were a witcher, you tended to collect people like that. 

“Hmm.” Ciri picked something from the bank beside her and twisted it between her fingers. “How exactly does iron affect fairies? I don’t remember reading about them at Kaer Morhen, or at school, even.”

“From what I understand, it’s like they’re severly allergic to it.” Geralt said slowly. “Obviously, it’s not something we really learn about as witchers.” Ciri ripped the plant in her hands in half, then in half again.

“Is Jaskier going to die?” she asked abruptly. Geralt stared at her. “Those arrows were definitely all iron. They were really soft. And one of them was right by his vitals. If it had hit him any further in…”

“I don’t know.” Geralt said. “I don’t know.” He sighed. “Let’s get dinner started.” Ciri tossed the remains of the plant out across the stream. They stood and walked back to the campsite. 

“I’m going to go find something to cook.” Ciri said, picking up her bow and disappearing off into the woods. Geralt sat down next to Jaskier and stared into the coals of the fire. 

“G’ralt?” Jaskier rolled onto his side and sat up, slowly. “Ow. Fuck” Geralt scooted closer to him, and Jaskier rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder. Carefully, Geralt slipped his arm around Jaskier’s waist and traced gentle circles over his hip. He was certain Jaskier had fallen asleep again until the bard shifted and sighed quietly. “Where’d Ciri go off to?”

“She went hunting.” Geralt said.

“Hmm.” Jaskier ran his fingers over Geralt’s knee. Geralt reached for his waterskin and gave Jaskier a few sips from it. The bard sighed again and moved his hand up Geralt’s thigh. “What did you do to them?”

“Hmm?”

“The people in that town. What did you do to them?”

“I couldn’t do much.” Geralt turned his head to kiss Jaskier. “I had you to worry about. I wanted to do worse than just curse them, though.” 

“People still think witchers have dark, evil powers.” Jaskier murmured, his words slow and careful. “My big, strong witcher and his terrible evil eyes, bliting the land.” 

“Hmmm.” Geralt kissed him again. Ciri came marching out of the woods, two good-sized hares dangling from her hand. 

“I can skin them.” she said when Geralt moved to stand. “You take care of Jaskier.” She settled herself down on the grass across the fire from them and began to gut and clean the hares. Jaskier snuggled closer to Geralt and winced slightly.

“Are you ok?” Geralt asked. Jaskier nodded.

“Just bumped my ankle.” he said. 

“Is there anything we can do to treat your...burns...better?” Geralt asked, searching for a good word to describe the wounds on Jaskier’s extremities.

“Nothing you could find out here.” Jaskier said. 

“We should go to Brokilon.” Ciri said, tossing the filetted hares into the pot she had filled with the left-over water from their earlier ministrations and beginning to slice carrots into the stew. “It’s only about a four days ride from here, and the dryads will be able to heal you. They fixed Geralt up after Vilgefortz beat his ass.”

“Thank you, Ciri, for the colorful language.” Geralt said. Sometimes he forgot that his daughter was now a grown woman and was jarred by the cursing that he would never have thought to hear on the lips of the scared little princess he had met in the woods almost a decade ago now. It was strange, being a parent. “You’re right, though. Brokilon is our best option.”

“It’ll be fine.” Jaskier muttered. “Arrow wounds heal fine on their own.” 

“You said it would be fine before we went into that fucking town.” Ciri pointed out, finishing the carrot off and beginning to cube potatoes into the water. “Now look where we are.”

“We should go to Brokilon.” Geralt said. “Jask, I don’t know shit-all about….about how to heal. The dryads can at least look at your wounds and give a better assessment than either of us could.”

“I suppose.” Jaskier said, but he still seemed uncomfortable with the idea of going to the forest. Ciri sprinkled herbs into the stew and set the pot onto the fire. She began stirring it gently, clearly concentrating on keeping her arm still. Her technique was perfect, and Geralt smiled to himself. That was his daughter, all right.

The stew was cooked in short order and doled out. Jaskier picked at his portion, but Geralt made sure he ate more than half. 

“You need to keep your strength up, love.” he said. “We’ve got a few days of travel ahead of us.” Jaskier wrinkled his nose, but complied with the witcher’s gentle encouragement. He accepted another dose of medicine and was asleep before the sunset was anywhere close to finishing. Geralt tucked him in and went down to the river to wash up. Ciri had tried to take the task on herself, insisting that Geralt needed to stay with Jaskier, but Geralt refused to let her do all of the work of cooking. He led the horses back up to the clearing and tied them to a tree. They were good horses, but it was not good practice to keep your horses untied all night, watch or no watch. The last beams of sunlight faded from the sky. 

“I’ll take watch.” Geralt said when Ciri began to yawn. “You sleep.”

“You’d better wake me to take second watch.” Ciri said. “Don’t do what you always do and stay up all night.”

“I won’t.” Geralt assured her, although that was exactly what he was planning on doing. Ciri eyed him suspiciously, but spread her bedroll out next to where Jaskier was lying and curled up. Geralt went to sit in between them and stroked his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, working out the tangles and dirt. Hopefully their next night would be in an inn and they could at least sleep in a clean bed, if not get a bath. 

Geralt woke up abruptly, his head banging against the tree he was leaning against. He had not realized he was falling asleep.

“Fuck.” he muttered, rubbing the back of his head. It was the kind of dark that came between midnight and the first rays of sunrise. What he could see of the stars were twinkling and beautiful, and the moon was certainly full and bright above the trees. The bedroll beside him was empty. Geralt frowned and sat up straighter, looking around the clearing for a sign as to where Jaskier had gone. He couldn’t have gotten far. A flash of light in the direction of the stream caught his eye, and he stood, wincing as his bad knee gave an irritated twinge. When he drew closer to the stream, he could see that there were three balls of light bobbing above the water, and Jaskier was sitting on the bank, watching them. When Geralt sat down next to him, he started, and the lights vanished abruptly.

“Shit, Geralt, you scared me.” he said, twisting his hands in a pattern. The lights appeared again and hovered. Geralt watched them, his eyes drawn to the ethereal glow. 

“Have you always been able to do that?” he asked. It was a foolish question, but it was the best way to get to the question of Jaskier’s ancestry. Jaskier twitched his fingers, and the lights danced around each other.

“Yeah.” he said. “I just…” He shrugged.

“I understand why you never told me.” Geralt said quietly. “I wish you had, of course I do. But I understand why you didn’t.” Jaskier nodded. His hand went to his necklace, and Geralt pulled his gaze away from the lights to look at him. “And I’m sorry I didn’t come after you sooner. I could have…”

“I told you not to follow me.” Jaskier interrupted, holding up a hand. “Don’t go blaming yourself for it. It wasn’t your fault. I was foolish. I misjudged my own abilities to run and hide, and I misjudged their knowledge of….of fairies.” He shuddered and hugged his arms close to himself, then whispered, “They had arrows of pure iron, Geralt. What kind of monster does that?” Geralt moved over and wrapped his arms around Jaskier, being careful to avoid the lump of bandage under his shirt. Jaskier turned his face into Geralt’s shirt and let out a quiet and shaky sob. Geralt leaned his forehead against the top of Jaskier’s head and ran his fingers over the length of the bard’s good side. 

“I’m fine with us going to Brokilon.” Jaskier said finally. He sounded tired. “It is what’s best.” 

“Is there something in Brokilon keeping you from wanting to go there?” Geralt asked cautiously. Jaskier was silent.

“It’s nothing important,” he said. “I just….” He trailed off. The lights above the stream paused their orbit. “It’s nothing.” he said finally.

“Hmm.” Geralt kissed him. “We should go back up to camp, or Ciri will be upset with me for disturbing your rest.”

“Oh, Cirilla.” Jaskier sighed. They did not make any moves to stand, but stayed sitting by the water, watching Jaskier’s lights bobbing with the movement of the waves. Eventually, Jaskier fell asleep, his breathing falling into a slow and even pattern, and Geralt carried him back to bed.


	3. The trees grown heavy there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt learns a little more about Jaskier's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come thou away with them, for Heaven to Earth is calling.  
> These are Earth's voice--her answer--spirits thronging.  
> Come to the Land of Youth: the trees grown heavy there  
> Drop on the purple wave the ruby fruit they bear. - A.E. (George Russell), “A Call of the Sidhe” 
> 
> It would be terrible of me to post this chapter without including the excellent contribution my friend's cat made to the beginning. Cinder is a literary genius.
> 
> "Hh,l;kmjhgyftghjkljjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjh gff g n n gnf gdgrefqw eqwqzgh"
> 
> Also, I have only read through book 3 in the series as of writing (4 is on the way from the local bookstore!) so some of Ciri's pre-this fic-activities have been garbled by my little blender of writing. :)

It was another beautiful day the next morning. Jaskier ate a little more than he had the previous night, which Geralt was glad about, but he was definitely beginning to develop a fever and his arrow wounds were no less swollen and angry. After a heated debate, in which Jaskier insisted he was well enough to ride a horse by himself, thank you very much, Geralt finally convinced his lover to ride on Roach with him. Roach would not mind. She had not been around for the other times Jaskier and Geralt had needed to share a saddle, but she was as strong and able as her predecessors had been. Pegasus ended up taking most of Geralt’s luggage to ease the burden for Roach, but he did not mind. He stood tearing up grass with quiet concentration while Ciri and Geralt rearranged his saddlebags. 

“We’ll be able to stop in a town at nightfall.” Ciri announced, pulling one of her maps out of the pocket of her pack and studying it with her tongue between her teeth. “That’s good to know. I love sleeping under the stars as much as the next witcher, but sometimes you need a soft bed and a real fireplace and a few walls.”

“Hmm.” Geralt said. He pulled the last strap on the saddlebags tight and gave Pegasus a firm pat on the rump. “Jask, are you ready to go?” Jaskier straightened up from the tree he was leaning against and wobbled, putting a hand out. Geralt stepped around Roach and took his arm. “Are you going to be ok to ride?” he asked softly, low enough that Ciri wouldn’t be able to hear.

“I think so.” Jaskier was putting a brave face on things, but Geralt could see how tight the corners of his mouth were when he smiled reassuringly up at the witcher. “You’ll just have to catch me if I fall.” 

“Jaskier, seriously.” Geralt cupped the bard’s face between his hands and brushed a stray hair back behind his ear. His face was warm, warmer than usual, despite how cold Geralt’s hands tended to be. “Are you going to be ok?”

“I’ll be fine,  _ mój cukiereczku _ .” Jaskier put one of his hands on top of Geralt’s and smiled again, rubbing his thumb over a scar on his knuckle. “ _ Ja obiecuję _ .” Geralt kissed him on the forehead. 

“OK.” he said.

“Are you two actually ready?” Ciri was already in the saddle. “We should get going if we want to make the next town before dark.”

“Of course, my darling daughter.” Geralt sighed. He picked Jaskier up by the waist, eliciting an indignant squeak from the bard, and put him in the saddle before mounting up in front of him. 

“Geralt of Rivia, I am not a sack of potatoes.” Jaskier muttered into his back, slipping his arms around Geralt’s waist. “I will not be treated as such.” Ciri nudged Kelpie into motion, and Geralt drew Roach level with her. He was not expecting to meet anyone on the roads, even at this time of year. Their journey so far had been barren of any encounters. As they began to move, Jaskier tightened his hold around Geralt. Geralt took a hand off of Roach’s reins and put it over Jaskier’s. 

The country they were riding through was farmland. They rode through the occasional copse in between wide fields of grain rolling into the distance, and the only people they saw were the farmhands toiling at the harvest. The houses were all big white farmhouses facing away from the road. A few times, they saw children playing behind the homes, and each time the kids stopped to gawp at the armored people on their big horses. 

“Are you a witcher?” one little girl yelled out about an hour into their ride. She and a few small boys had been chasing each other around the wild grass before they spotted the horses. 

“Yes.” Geralt said simply, but the girl wrinkled her nose at him.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” she said. “ _ Obviously  _ you’re a witcher. I know the song. I was talking to  _ her _ .” She pointed at Ciri. 

“Toss a coin to your witcher, indeed.” Jaskier murmured into Geralt’s back, and Geralt slapped him gently on the back of the hand.

“Yes, I’m a witcher.” Ciri said. “Be careful, kid!” One of the little boys had nearly run into something that Geralt guessed was a piece of rusted farm equipment. It was too small and hidden by grass for him to really get a sense of its shape. 

“Cool.” the little girl said. “I want to be a witcher someday.”

“It’s not worth it.” Geralt grunted.

“Ger _ alt _ .” Jaskier sighed. “Don’t ruin her dreams.”

“You’re the White Wolf, aren’t you?” the little girl said, folding her arms and regarding him suspiciously. “White hair, pretty bard?” Jaskier and Ciri both snorted, and Ciri broke into a coughing fit in a shoddy attempt at hiding her laughter. “I thought you would be bigger.” 

“Hmm.” Geralt said. “Well, um, we have lots of witcher business to get on with.” 

“You can be a witcher if you work hard enough.” Ciri called over her shoulder as they rode away. “Learn to use a sword, and you’ll be there.” 

“Don’t encourage the youth to try and become witchers.” Geralt sighed. “We can’t make them witchers for real. You know that. And anyway, her parents would have to be willing to abandon her to Vesemir.”

“Maybe I should come back and train her myself.” Ciri mused. “Have a little sidekick. Now that you don’t get to have a little girl to look after, maybe you need another one to soften you up a little. You’ve gotten mean and old since we met.” Geralt looked at her incredulously, and she snorted with laughter. “Don’t look at me like that, Geralt!” 

“I don’t think the world needs more Ciris.” Jaskier said. “It’d put the other witchers out of work.”

“Come on, Jaskier, don’t side with him.” Ciri said. “Don’t let his wiles charm you into working with him!”

“Oh, Ciri, I’ve been lost to his wiles for longer than you’ve been alive.” Jaskier teased, and Ciri made a face at him.

The rest of their ride was uneventful. They came out of the farm country and into another forest, this one teaming with singing birds and squabbling squirrels. It was here that they decided to take a brief break to let the horses drink and to eat a little themselves. Jaskier nearly fell off of Roach when Geralt dismounted. Geralt caught him and lifted him down, but didn’t let go of him once his feet were on the ground. 

“Fuck.” Jaskier mumbled, leaning into Geralt. “My everything hurts.”

“Do you want to take something for it?” Geralt asked, kissing him on the head and trying to keep the worry out of his voice. Jaskier nodded and wobbled over to sit under a tree. Geralt began to rummage through the pouch with all of their herbs and found the correct bundle of leaves. He hesitated. They didn’t have hot water, and he wasn’t sure if eating herbs straight was a good idea. 

“I can just eat it.” Jaskier called. “It’s what we did...back home. For fun, but it probably works.” Geralt frowned at him, but brought a few bits of herb over to him and watched as the bard swallowed them. “Shit, I forgot how…” He was out in a second. Geralt caught him before he could hit his head on the roots and moved him so he was lying in a more comfortable position. Ciri came over to stare at the unconscious bard.

“No wonder he’s such a lightweight.” she commented. “Do you think it’s the power of nature flowing through his veins that does that?”

“I have no idea.” Geralt said, brushing a tangled lock of hair away from Jaskier’s eyes. “Are the horses finished eating?” Ciri looked over at their three animals thoughtfully.

“They could use a few more minutes to rest.” she said, and sat down next to him. They sat listening to the horses snorting and chewing. Geralt worked the tangles out of Jaskier’s hair, wondering how so many small leaves had gotten stuck in his hair. A few of the strands of hair had miraculously retained the curls of a few days ago. Jaskier had always been able to maintain his hairstyles far longer than made sense for their outdoor lifestyle. It was strange that Geralt had not really ever acknowledged Jaskier’s oddities. Looking back, it was so  _ obvious _ . Roach wandered over from the grass and nudged the back of Geralt’s head with her nose.

“I guess Roach wants to go.” Geralt observed, reaching back and stroking her nose. Ciri stood and went to re-tether Pegasus to Kelpie. Geralt lifted Jaskier into his arms and settled him in front of him on Roach. Jaskier muttered something and turned his face into Geralt’s neck. “I’ve got you,  _ mój kwiatuszku _ .” Geralt murmured, adjusting his hold on Jaskier’s waist and kissing him on the side of the head. “We’ll be to town soon.”

It was dark when they arrived at the inn. The innkeeper was not entirely pleased about two witchers and an unconscious man spending the night in one of his rooms, but he did not refuse the extra gold coin Ciri slipped him. Geralt tucked Jaskier into the one bed and went downstairs to find some supper while Ciri took a bath in the communal bathroom. When he had taken his bath, they sat down at the low wooden table and ate the stew in silence. It did not have much flavor, but at least it was warm and had not been thrown together from whatever meat was lurking in the bushes of the forest. Jaskier woke up a little and was extremely bleary, but he consented to being fed stew and bread. He was asleep again seconds after falling back into bed. Geralt sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

“I hope we’re right about the dryads,” he said to Ciri. “This seems like something...deeper than any of the injuries I had when I was with them, and they didn’t manage to completely heal some of those.” Unconsciously, he rubbed his bad knee. 

“You did leave halfway through your treatment.” Ciri pointed out. “Ran off on some quest to the ends of the earth, going after a lost little girl.” She smiled slightly. 

“You weren’t that little.” Geralt said, smiling despite himself. “What were you doing while Jask and I were marching about the woods with our little ragtag crew? Frolicing about in the desert?”

“Murdering villagers.” Ciri whispered, her face growing grim for a moment. Geralt reached across the table and put his hand on top of hers. “I think they can help him.” she said, brightening a bit. “ I remember there were fae in Brokilon when I was there. The dryads told me not to go past a certain point in the woods because that was fairy country and if I went there they wouldn’t be able to do anything about what happened to me. It felt like a threat.”

“I don’t remember there being fairies in Brokilon.” Geralt said slowly. “But I was also…”

“Fucked up.” Ciri finished, and Geralt frowned at her. “What? It’s true.” 

“It is true.” Geralt sighed, long and tired. “Maybe that’s why Jaskier doesn’t want to go to Brokilon.”

“What do you mean?” Ciri asked.

“Something tells me that Jaskier did not leave to be a wandering bard pretending to be a human with the good will of the fae he left behind.” Geralt said slowly. Ciri glanced at the bed, where Jaskier was sleeping peacefully, one arm thrown across the pillow and his hair falling into his face. 

“Maybe.” she said. “Why would you leave home for a world that hates your kind and then decide to not go back for thirty years? Other than love, of course.” She grinned at Geralt, and he frowned at her disapprovingly. 

“Jaskier and I were strictly platonic long before we first considered being in a relationship.” he said. “I don’t know if it was love keeping him with me.” 

“Of course it was. Silly Geralt.” Ciri said. “I remember how he looked at you even before you two had your lovely revelatory romp in the woods.” 

“I hate it when you call it that.” Geralt groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

“I know.” Ciri said cheerfully. She yawned and ran a finger through her hair. Geralt thought about how Yen would react to the knowledge that her daughter had decided to finally take her knife to her beautiful long hair and cut it short. She would not be surprised, as Ciri had been gradually reducing the length of her hair for years now, but she would be upset that he had allowed her to do it so unevenly. “I’m going to go to sleep now. I didn’t realize how long we were riding for.” 

“Good idea.” Geralt said, and remained in his chair as Ciri unrolled her blankets in the corner of the room and curled up. He blew the candle out–he did not really need light to function–and sat staring out the window at the faint light of the moon peeping through the curtains and falling across the floor. He really should go to sleep. He hadn’t slept for more than a handful of hours the previous night. 

“Geralt?” The voice was so soft Geralt almost didn’t recognize it, but he knew after a pause that it was Jaskier. He turned and saw the grey outline of the bard sitting up in bed.

“What is it?” he asked, standing and going to sit on the edge of the mattress beside him. “Is everything alright?”

“I was listening to you talking.” Jaskier admitted, fidgeting with the edge of the sheets. “You were...you were right.” Geralt took one of his hands and ran his thumb over it. 

“Why did you really decide to go wandering?” he asked. He had heard Jaskier’s story before, that he had graduated from Oxenfurt and taught for a year, then grew tired of the academic life and headed off into the wilderness searching for adventure. It had been a lucky chance that he had found Geralt, and if he had not come across such an ‘inspiring muse’, unwilling though the witcher had been at first, he would have given up and gone back to his comfy quarters and stable income at the university. 

“I really did go to Oxenfurt, you know.” Jaskier said. “All of that was true. I thought it would be fun to try it out, see what humans learned about in their funny little schools. It was good to learn how to act like a human before I really tried to pretend to be one.”

“And you learned so much about how regular people act at university.” Geralt teased. Jaskier snorted and rested his head against Geralt’s shoulder. 

“I was bored of the forest,” he said softly. “We never left, and we were never going to leave. The fairies in Brokilon hate the outside world. It’s dangerous for us, of course, but no one in Brokilon goes beyond the Ribbon. And no one comes in, unless the dryads let them. The only people I’ve known who weren’t elves who came to Brokilon were you and Ciri, and...and Milva.” He sighed. “I hated it. When I was young, or younger, because I’m still young to most of the fairies there, I didn’t mind. I believed what my mother said, that beyond the Ribbon lay death and disease and nothing interesting or exciting at all. And then elves started coming to the dryads, and I started sneaking out to talk to them.”

“How old are you?” Geralt asked. It was something he had been wondering since the previous night. 

“Nearly 200.” Jaskier said, and Geralt stared at him. “I’m not even married yet, Geralt, that’s young for fairies.” 

“You’re older than me.” Geralt observed, trying to keep himself from sounding affronted. 

“Love, of course I’m older than you, I’m a fairy.” Jaskier laughed, kissing Geralt on the small bit of collarbone that peeked out of his shirt. “Anyways, I got interested in what the elves were talking about on the outside, and I wanted to  _ go _ .”

“Have you always played the lute?” Geralt wondered, stroking his hair. 

“Of course. And any number of other instruments, although a lot of those are obsolete now.” Jaskier said. “If we ever find a hurdy-gurdy, oh, I have missed the one I had back home. Maybe…” He trailed off. 

“We are going to your home.” Geralt said. “You could get it then. There’s room in the saddlebags, as long Yen is occupied with whatever it is she’s up to.” Jaskier was silent for a long time. “What is it? Is something bothering you, or are you just sad about your hurdy-gurdy?”

“My mother found out I was thinking about going outside.” Jaskier continued. “I don’t know who told her. I only ever told two people about what I was doing with the dryads. Mother thought I was learning how to heal from them, but I guess she talked to a dryad and learned I was talking to the elves, and figured things out from there. She confronted me one night and accused me of abandoning her.” He sighed and traced his fingers over the seam of Geralt’s trousers. “I got mad at her, obviously, and told her I didn’t give a fuck what she thought and that I was going to see what went on outside the woods, so help me. And then she told me….” He sighed and was silent again. Geralt waited for him to continue. “I guess when I was born she went to one of the oracles who lives deep, deep in the forest. Oldest son and all that, want to tell his fortune and make sure he’s going to grow up big and strong. The oracle usually does a basic, here’s who he should marry here’s a prediction for where his life is going to go, that sort of prediction. But all the oracle gave my mother was a prophecy. That’s a big deal among the fae. We believe, or many of us believe, very strongly in the power of destiny.”

“Funny you ended up with me.” Geralt commented. “I’m plagued by destiny at all sides.” Jaskier chuckled.

“Fortunes are different from prophecies with us.” he said. “A fortune is just general. It’s not an event. Prophecies? They’re something specific that’s going to happen, and nothing is going to change it. I bet if your wonderful mother,” Geralt snorted. “Had gone to one of our oracles, she would have predicted in the vaguest terms possible that you would find the Lion Cub of Cintra in the woods.”

“The girl in the woods. She is your destiny.” Geralt murmured, Renfri’s last words to him coming to his mind.

“Something like that.” Jaskier said. He was silent yet again.

“What did the oracle say to your mother?” Geralt asked gently. Jaskier sighed.

“ _ The child of flowers will return in the arms of the White Wolf. Then you shall know you have truly lost him. _ ” he quoted in a sing-song voice, as if to take away the serious nature of the prediction. Geralt let out a breath. “Mother believed, and still believes, I’m sure, that if I ever left Brokilon I would come back dead in the arms of some stupid knight who had killed me on a whim.”

“And now I’m carrying you back to Brokilon.” Geralt whispered. He felt as if someone had hit him in the gut. 

“I don’t think it means death.” Jaskier said. “I think it just means this is the last time I’ll ever go home. You and Ciri, and Yen, you’re my family now, and I don’t need to stay there.” Geralt wanted to say something, but all he could think of was how warm Jaskier’s skin was against his own, and how pale he had looked when they had rested during the journey. He was certain now that he had brought Jaskier to his doom. “Nevertheless, when we do get to Brokilon my mother will not want me to leave.” Jaskier continued. “Especially since you’re who you are. We’ve known who you were for a long time. Fae know things like that. Of course, I didn’t know your name was Geralt and that you had a horse named Roach who you loved more than anyone and that you liked hot baths and looking at the moon and having your hair brushed and all those things.” He was rambling, but Geralt did not mind. He had never really minded when Jaskier rambled. That was love.

“Did you look for me?” he wondered.

“Oh, no.” Jaskier said. “I just let fate do what it needed to do, and of course it led me straight to a brooding man in the corner of a dirty little inn in Aedirn.”

“And a whole lot of bread on the floor.” Geralt remembered, and received a weak slap on the thigh for his cheek. “Is that what you learned humans did? Gather up the things thrown at them for their terrible singing?”

“Fuck you, Geralt.” Jaskier grumbled. “I might as well go back to sleep if all I’m going to get is terrible abuse.” Geralt kissed him on the forehead.

“I need to sleep, too,” he said. “Do you want me to stay here?” Jaskier nodded, and Geralt toed his boots off and let them fall to the side of the bed before taking his shirt off and tossing it onto the back of the chair. Jaskier let him under the covers and wriggled into the curve of his body, pressing his face into Geralt’s chest. It was warmer than it had been earlier that day. Geralt ran his fingers through Jaskier’s hair and wondered if Jaskier was right. Was the loss the prophecy spoke of just metaphorical? He didn’t know enough about fae predictions to say. They seemed like a fairly literal people based on the stories he had heard. Geralt could deal with that, but not when the literal interpretation of something so clearly pointed to death. He wondered if there was anything else they could do, anywhere else they could go. Then, he thought of how he had tried to avoid destiny and how it had caught up with him eventually. Destiny was sleeping in the corner of this inn, muttering in her sleep. Whatever this godsforsaken prophecy meant, he could not try to avoid it as Jaskier’s mother had tried to. They had to ride at it straight on and hope for the best. He fell asleep quickly, despite how fast his mind was racing.


	4. The elfin fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang has an encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O maiden, why waxed thy faith so faint,  
> Thy spirit so slack and slaw?  
> Thy courage kept good till the flame waxed wud,  
> Then thy might began to thaw;  
> Had ye kissed him frae ‘mang us a’.  
> New bless the fire, the elfin fire,  
> That made thee faint and fa’;  
> Now bless the fire, the elfin fire,  
> The longer it burns it blazes the higher. -unattributed, “The Fairy Oak of Corriewater”
> 
> Callout post for myself: doesn't know shit-all about Witcher monster lore.

They left early the next morning. It was a warm day, with the sun shining bright in the sky and chasing away any thought that fall had already arrived. Despite the warmth, Jaskier was shivering as if it were the dead of winter. As Ciri and Geralt packed up the few things they had taken out of their saddlebacks, Jaskier huddled under Geralt’s thick woolen cloak in the center of the bed, not even attempting to look anything other than achy and miserable. Geralt learned that the one herb that didn’t have an absurdly strong effect on fairy physiology was, unfortunately, feverfew. 

“It’s probably because this isn’t a normal fever.” Ciri mused as Geralt carefully unwound the bandages around Jaskier’s shoulder. “What do fae use for fever? Magic fever plant?”

“We don’t get sick.” Jaskier mumbed, wincing as Geralt found his way down to the last layer of gauze. A sharp smell of iron and blood filled the room.

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re only two days away from Brokilon.” he said slowly, applying a layer of the poultice to the wound. The skin around it was slowly turning a frightening black color, something Geralt had never seen before. He had had his fair share of infections, but his skin had never turned that particular color.

“‘S a long time.” Jaskier said. “Lots of land between here and there.” 

“We’ll get there just fine.” Geralt assured him, rewrapping the wound in bandages and kissing him on the top of the head. “I promise.” The wound on Jaskier’s side was much the same as the shoulder, and Jaskier let out a tiny whimper when Geralt touched it. “I’m sorry, love.” Geralt whispered, kissing his good shoulder. “I know it stings.” 

“Geralt, you are a cruel man with your medicines.” Ciri teased, but there was no life in her mockery. She leaned against the window, staring out into the street and looking preoccupied. “Can we push through and make it in a day, do you think?” 

“Not with Jask.” Geralt said, tying off the bandage and helping Jaskier back into his shirt. “I don’t want to make him ride for more than he really needs to.”

“...don’t want to do that either.” Jaskier contributed, pulling the cloak that Geralt draped over his shoulders tight around himself. Ciri slung her pack over her shoulders and glanced around the room. 

“Do you want me to carry you or can you walk?” Geralt asked Jaskier, tucking a stray lock of hair behind the bard’s ear. 

“I don’t know if walking is a good idea.” Jaskier murmured, pressing his cold face against Geralt’s hand. Geralt reached for his pack, but Ciri had already slung it over her front.

“You’re carrying a whole man.” she said, wrapping her arms around it and leaning her chin on the top. “I can carry your shit for you.” Geralt smiled and picked Jaskier up, bundling the cloak around him until he was completely swathed in it. Jaskier was only about an inch shorter than Geralt, but the cloak still seemed to envelop him completely. He pulled the hood over his head and nestled his head in the crook of Geralt’s neck. They hurried down the narrow wooden stairs and through the common room to the stables in the back. Geralt saw a few people staring at him, this witcher with a person in his arms, but he ignored them. He was used to stares. He was sure Ciri was giving them nasty looks, but he did not need to worry about what Ciri did behind his back. The holster had taken good care of their horses, and all of their coats looked shiny and clean. Geralt lifted Jaskier onto Roach’s back once the stablehand had led her out of the stables to free up his hands for adjusting Roach’s saddle. Ciri had lashed his pack to the top of the saddlebags on Pegasus’ back with rope from somewhere in her saddlebags. 

“We’re all set to go, girl.” Geralt said to Roach, patting her neck. “Just a few more days on the road.” Roach whickered and stuck her nose against his ear. “I love you, too.” He swung himself up behind Jaskier and slipped his arm around his lover’s waist. Jaskier pressed himself back against Geralt and took his hand.

“Let’s get on the road!” Ciri said in a falsely peppy voice, leaping into the saddle as if she were climbing up onto a low wall. Two young stablehands, who were loitering by the bushes playing some game in the dirt, gawped at her with awestruck faces. She nudged Kelpie into motion and led the way out of town and back onto the road. 

Their ride that day was silent. It was too beautiful out. Geralt was glad for the warm weather, as he was certain anything else would have made things worse, but it made it easier to notice how hard Jaskier was shivering. They were riding through forested country again. Geralt expected to see fewer people on the sides of the road and was surprised when every hour or so a person would appear from the woods or come riding down the road towards them. None of the people spoke to them, but even Geralt could tell they were giving them strange looks. 

“There’s nothing like a pair of witchers and a man wrapped up in a cloak on the warmest day of autumn so far to attract kind eyes.” Ciri noted wryly, spitting on the ground as a woman passing on a white horse gave them a wide berth and a suspicious glare. “What the hell does she think we’ll do, kill her horse? Take her money? Fuck her.” 

“Ciri,” Geralt sighed, then failed to find a reason why Ciri should not act the way she had. It was the same way many of his witcher brothers reacted to people like that woman, and it was not like Ciri was a princess anymore. Jaskier mumbled something quietly, but when Geralt checked to see if he was being talked to, he realized that the bard had fallen into a fitful sleep. He could not reach Jaskier’s forehead to kiss it thanks to the cloak, so he compensated with a hand squeeze. 

“What are we going to do if we don’t get there...in time?” Ciri asked suddenly. Geralt stared at the back of her head. She turned back to look at him, and her green eyes were filled with worry. “If he does...you know. What do we do?” Geralt tightened his hold on Jaskier, as if that would stop death from taking him, and Jaskier murmured something and snuggled closer to him. 

“We don’t need to think about that yet.” Geralt said stiffly. “We’re two days away, and he’s not at that point yet.” Ciri chewed her lip. 

“We don’t know if he’s at that point yet.” she said. “We don’t know how this progresses. It’s not a normal fever, Geralt. You know that.”

“I know, Ciri.” Geralt sighed. “I don’t want to entertain the possibility that we’ll be too late. We won’t be. He will get the healing he needs, and by this time next week we will be back on the road with a healthy and back-to-normal Jaskier.”

“What if we don’t have him, even if the healing happens?” Ciri asked. “I was having trouble getting to sleep and I know I shouldn’t be listening in on things but it’s hard to not when you’re in a tiny room together, but I heard you talking. About his mother. About the prophecy.” 

“Hmmm.” Jaskier shifted again, mumbling, and Geralt rubbed his good shoulder. 

“What if she does stop us from leaving?” Ciri continued. “How are we going to deal with a  _ fae _ ? Those people thought you could kill a fairy, but can you, Geralt? Can  _ we _ ?”

“I don’t know.” Geralt said softly. “The only person who can really answer that is Jaskier, I don’t want to ask him. I’m not going to consider killing the mother of the man I love.” They continued along the road in silence.

“So, what are we going to do instead?” Ciri asked. “How do you appease the fae? Flowers?” 

“I don’t know.” Geralt said again. “Ciri, I don’t know anything about the fae except for what we’ve learned since two days ago. We’ll have to ask Jaskier. Assuming he’s in any state to answer questions like that.” Ciri sighed.

“I want to go back to that town and fuck them all up.” she said. “I think I will, once we get to Brokilon. Just…show them what happens when they mess with someone in our family. You know Yen would have razed their village to the ground.” 

“She would have, and that’s why I’m a little glad she isn’t here.” Geralt admitted. 

“If she had been here this wouldn’t have happened.” Ciri said. “She would have gotten us out of there without a distraction.” Geralt studied Roach’s ears with intense concentration.

“We cannot dwell on what would have happened.” he said softly. “It will do us no good.” Ciri rubbed Kelpie’s neck and sighed. 

“Do you really believe everything will work out?” she asked. 

“I have to believe it will.” Geralt said. “Otherwise I wouldn’t keep going.”

“Hmm.” Ciri murmured. They continued through the woods. A large family of deer crossed the path at one point, and Geralt watched them tip-toeing over the packed earth and frolicing away through the undergrowth. The warm weather had summoned the wildlife in force. The birds were singing in the trees, and small mammals ran under the horse’s hooves often. There were flowers poking up stubbornly through the grass, refusing to accept that the frost was coming to cut their floral lives short. They stopped in an open patch that looked like it had once been farmland. Ciri stayed on her feet, watching the road for anyone who might want to bother a pair of heavily armed travellers. Jaskier woke up for just long enough to let Geralt give him water, then drifted off with his head tucked against Geralt’s chest. Geralt sat cross legged in what had once been a furrow for grain and held Jaskier to him, rocking them both slightly back and forth. Ciri walked over to stand next to him, then walked back to the horses. She was full of nervous energy today and hadn’t sat still for more than a second. Even on Kelpie, Geralt had noticed her legs bouncing more than could be explained by the movement of riding. He sighed.

“I think they’re ready to go.” Ciri called from behind Pegasus. Geralt stood carefully, trying not to jostle Jaskier, and returned to the horses. Ciri was stroking Pegasus and Roach’s necks in unison and continuing to watch the road. “He’s been sleeping for a while.” she said softly, regarding Jaskier with concern in her eyes.

“Fitfully.” Geralt said shortly, adjusting his hold on the bard. “He needs the rest.” Jaskier shifted and mumbled incoherently into Geralt’s shoulder. Ciri swung herself into Kelpie’s saddle, and Geralt carefully maneuvered his sleeping lover onto Roach’s back. They continued along the road. No one rode towards them, and no one came from behind. It was dead quiet, other than the rustlings of animals in the bushes and birdsong from the trees. The sudden lack of travellers worried Geralt. He suspected that they would find something had happened up ahead. 

Unfortunately, he was right. They had been riding for a couple of hours after their rest when they came around a bend in the road and saw a pair of soldiers standing in the middle of the road in front of a barricade constructed from abandoned carts. 

“Shit…” Jaskier, who had woken up about an hour previously and had been resting quietly against Geralt for the duration of that time, whispered, tightening his hold on Geralt’s hand.

“Stop!” one of the soldiers called. “The road is closed. There is a detour back several miles that goes around the woods. You may take it, but it is not safe to continue.” 

“Did you take a look at how we’re dressed?” Ciri retorted. “We’re witchers, and we don’t care about whatever’s blocked the road.” The soldiers looked at each other, then back at Ciri and Geralt, and Jaskier. 

“Are you interested in being attacked?” the second soldier asked, raising an eyebrow at them. “A whole caravan were killed in its first strike.”

“Did they see what it was?” Geralt asked. “We cannot afford to take a detour that would be as long as the one you are describing. Was there only one creature?”

“Supposedly.” the first soldier said. “That is what the few who survived the attack reported. Some sort of huge, vicious insect.”

“Oh, a kikimore. Easy.” Ciri said nonchalantly. Geralt knew she was putting on a show for the soldiers to convince them to let them pass, so he refrained from telling her off for her casual attitude to the creature. Jaskier held on even tighter to Geralt. “Let us pass and we will take care of it. Like my companion said, we are on a tight timeline.” The first soldier pursed his lips, and his partner stared at Jaskier and Geralt. 

“There’s nothing wrong with letting them pass, if that’s what they want.” the second soldier said. “It’s their funeral.” Ciri snorted. “Don’t say we didn’t warn you, Miss Witcher.” he added in a patronizing tone. His partner kicked him.

“I’ll ride back and bring you the head myself.” Ciri said coldly. “Have you ever seen a kikimore? You’d love to have such a souvenir. Now pull that barrier aside, or I’ll make my horse kick it down.” The first soldier ran to make a path through the pile of carts, and the other man went to help him, although much more slowly. Ciri led the way through the gap and they continued along the path. It was clear for the first half-mile. The first cart appeared after another stretch of abandoned farmland. It was overturned, and something had torn it into scraps of wood. The bodies had been taken away, but even Geralt could see the smears of blood on the cart and in the mud. 

“Are we sure this was a good idea?” Jaskier whispered, pulling the cloak close around his shoulders and staring at the remains of a second cart, which the horses had to pick their way over. It had been scattered across the road, and there was definitely a limb still stuck beneath the wheels. 

“Geralt, you are  _ so _ lucky you can’t see everything here.” Ciri called, wrinkling her nose and steering Kelpie away from half of a third cart. Jaskier nodded in agreement. “Where do you suppose the kikimore’s gone off to?”

“I’m sure it’s still nearby.” Geralt said, looking towards the treeline and fidgeting with the reins. “Waiting.” Jaskier shuddered. They continued slowly along the road, both witchers’ ears straining for any sound of insectoid limbs crunching in the undergrowth. Everything was quiet. Too quiet…

There was a horrible screeching, and the kikimore crashed out of the trees a good distance in front of them. Ciri pulled Kelpie to a stop and leapt from the saddle, drawing her broadsword as she did so. Geralt pressed Roach’s reins into Jaskier’s hands, muttered, “ _ Stay here _ ,” in his ear, and leapt down to the ground as well. He drew his sword and ran after Ciri, who was already pirouetting and dancing around the gnashing mandibles. She slashed one of its legs in two and cackled as it screamed and frothed. Geralt joined her, dodging a stab from a leg and getting a slash on its side. The thing was huge, much bigger than the kikimores he usually fought, and he was working hard to avoid its far-reaching and horribly segmented legs. Ciri got in a good stab in its head, but it shook her sword off and tried to leap at her. Geralt lunged to finish it off from below, but was foiled when a horrible pain shot through his knee. His vision went black, and his leg buckled under him. He came to kneeling in the mud of the road, his sword still in his hand,  _ thank the gods _ . The kikimore turned its attention away from Ciri and screeched in triumph, its slathering jaws ready to take a good bite out of witcher. Geralt raised his sword in a vain attempt to fend off the creature and hoped against all hope that Ciri and Jaskier could escape once the monster had done its work with him.

“ _ No! _ ” he heard Jaskier scream, followed by a long string of shouted words that he did not know. It was a language he did not recognize, a language that he had never heard Jaskier speaking before. The kikimore froze in mid-lunge, and a strange light began to glow around it. He turned to stare towards the bard and saw him standing up in the stirrups, his hand raised and emitting the same strange light. It was a greenish-white, and it hurt Geralt’s eyes so much he had to look away. Jaskier gave one final yell, and there was an explosion of light and a screech. Geralt rolled away from the source of the explosion, his hands over his head, and felt another twinge in his knee. Ciri exclaimed in horrified disgust, and the light faded. Geralt sat up, blinking away the spots in his vision. The kikimore had been reduced to a horrible pile of black sludge spread across the road and Ciri. He had been spared the worst of it, but his boots were stained with kikimore guts. 

“Holy shit.” Ciri said. Geralt struggled to his feet and turned towards the horses. Jaskier lowered his hand slowly, his eyes wide.

“Didn’t think I still had that in me.” he mumbled, before slipping sideways off of Roach. Geralt ran, ignoring his throbbing knee, and caught him before he could hit the ground. Jaskier was even paler than he had been that morning. “Shit.” he mumbled into Geralt’s shoulder, clinging to him.

“I’ve got you.” Geralt said, cradling his head. He was not going to fall. “Let’s...we should find somewhere to stop and rest.”

“Somewhere that doesn’t stink like exploded kikimore.” Ciri said. She stared at Jaskier. “Since when have you been able to do that?” Jaskier shook his head, and Geralt gave Ciri a look. They got back into the saddle, Geralt stoically ignoring how much his knee hurt when he launched into the saddle, and rode slowly past the puddle of kikimore. Thankfully, they found a stream just past the place the carts had been, and Ciri stripped down and washed herself and her clothes off while Geralt tended to Jaskier. After drinking some water and accepting the dried fruit Geralt pressed upon him, the bard regained some of his color and looked less likely to faint again, but he was still worse than he had been before they encountered the kikimore. Geralt took something for his knee on the sly, so his companions wouldn’t worry.

“Should we stay here for the night?” he asked Jaskier, tucking the folds of the cloak around him. Jaskier shrugged.

“I’ll be ok.” he whispered, leaning his head against Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt stroked his hair and stared at the worn wooden bridge that continued the road over the stream. “Magic shit...forgot how much it took out of me.” Jaskier added.

“Is that different from what Yen does?” Ciri climbed out of the stream and began putting her damp clothes back on. She had long ago given up on being shy about her body in the wilderness; it wasn’t really necessary when the only people you spent time with alone in the woods were your adopted father and his lover. Geralt glanced up the road, but no other carts would be getting past the soldier’s barrier until someone figured out that the kikimore had been taken care of.

“I don’t know.” Jaskier said. “I don’t know how the chaos sorcerers use works. I get my power from…” He waved his hand vaguely in the air. “The forces of nature.”

“But you don’t kill anything.” Ciri observed. 

“It’s like...a well of power I reach into.” Jaskier said. “It gets renewed by other means than your chaos.” He reached for the water skin and took a few sips. “I think I need another nap.” Geralt would have teased him about how many naps he was taking in another situation, but now he shifted to let the bard lean more comfortably against him and continued to stroke his hair. Ciri put her armor back on and shook the water out of her hair. 

“Is your knee ok?” she asked Geralt. “Don’t look at me like that! I know it buckled. You can’t hide anything from me.” 

“Why did I teach you to be so observant?” Geralt sighed. “It’s fine. I took something for it. It’s getting close to evening, anyways. We won’t be riding for much longer.” 

“Don’t make me have to write a letter to Yen and tell her you’re not taking care of yourself.” Ciri threatened. “You know I will.”

“Yen trusts me to not take care of myself when I need to.” Geralt countered. “She wouldn’t come and forcibly heal me.” Ciri arched an eyebrow.

“Maybe you don’t know Yen as well as I thought you did.” she said. Geralt frowned at her, and she laughed. “Let’s get going.” Geralt lifted Jaskier onto Roach and swung himself up, ignoring the dull ache in his knee. 

It was another clear and beautiful night. Geralt took the second watch and sat watching the waning moon through the branches of the trees. A fox crept across their campsite, sniffing at the coals of the fire before hurrying away into the bracken. An owl hooted, and another owl responded from somewhere far away in the forest. He sighed, breathing in the cool night air. If things were different, he would have been perfectly happy.

His peaceful contemplation was ended by a soft cry from the bedroll beside him. Jaskier shuddered in his sleep and called out in the language he had used to explode the kikimore. Geralt slipped across the ground to be closer to his sleeping lover and touched his shoulder. 

“Jaskier,” he whispered, shaking him slightly. “Jaskier, wake up.” Jaskier shouted a string of words and sat up abruptly, staring blankly into the darkness. “I’m right here, Jask.” Geralt whispered, keeping his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “You’re safe. You’re ok.” Jaskier moved close to him and buried his face in his chest. He was shaking. Geralt rubbed his back, being mindful of his wounds. Jaskier muttered again in the same language and drifted back to sleep with his head in Geralt’s lap. Geralt returned to his stargazing, working his fingers through the tangle of Jaskier’s hair and wondering what they were going to find when they finally reached Brokilon.


	5. The shrill wind of midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang reaches Brokilon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Her grief with, as she might!--But, where, oh! where  
> Is traceable a vestige of the notes  
> That ruled those dances wild in character?--  
> Deep underground? Or in the upper air,  
> On the shrill wind of midnight? or where floats  
> O'er twilight fields the autumnal gossamer?- William Wordsworth, “The Faery Chasm”
> 
> If you've read my only other long Witcher fic on this website (or any of my Critical Role fics tbh), you'll know that I do love to put random other language words into my fics. I did my best to conjugate things correctly but I definitely did make a lot of mistakes so lmk if you spot corrections to be made! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy the lovely and totally not evil ending of this chapter. :)

Geralt woke up the next morning to find that Jaskier’s condition had worsened overnight. His skin was burning up, and he was barely coherent when he managed to be awake. It took Geralt several minutes to coax him to drink an acceptable amount of water, after which he immediately drifted off into a restless half-sleep. Ciri and Geralt readied the horses in silence. Jaskier muttered something in his language when Geralt lifted him onto Roach, but was asleep again by the time they were on the road. They began to pass more and larger groups of people and had to step off of the road more than once for merchant’s wagon trains or caravans of soldiers. Geralt had thought that they had gotten strange looks the previous day, when Jaskier had been completely wrapped up in the cloak, but now that their fellow travellers could clearly see that Geralt had a sleeping and clearly ill man in front of him on his horse, they began to grow more suspicious of these witchers and their companion. Ciri cursed out a man who had the nerve to ask where they were taking that poor man in a way that implied he thought they were kidnapping Jaskier. 

“What the  _ fuck  _ is wrong with people?” she raged as they continued along. “What does he think witchers do, eat children and suck the marrow out of babies’ bones?” 

“ _ Pe bawn i ond wedi gwybod, meddai, cyn i chi ddod o gartref _ ,” Jaskier murmured in a vague sing-song. Geralt kissed him on the forehead, noticing just how dry and hot it was. 

“ _ Śpij, moją miłością _ .” he murmured.

“ _ Na…” _ Jaskier protested, tossing his head. Roach glanced back at her riders and snorted, tossing her head.

“Listen to Roach if you won’t listen to me.” Geralt said, rubbing Jaskier’s thigh and kissing him again.

They rode until they reached a town with an inn. It had been dark for a while when they finally arrived, and both Ciri and Geralt were exhausted. Jaskier managed to sleep through being nearly dropped on the stable floor, but he had always been a heavy sleeper. Ciri led the way into the inn proper. The innkeeper was a short man with a scraggly beard, and when they appeared in front of his counter he stared at them with suspicion in his eyes. Ciri sighed and pulled their communal money bag out of her belt pouch.

“We have money. Just give us a room, please.” she said, counting out several gold pieces and shoving them at the innkeeper.

“What are two witchers doing wanting to sleep inside, hmm?” the innkeeper asked, alternating between studying the pile of coins and looking Ciri and Geralt over. His eyes rested for a moment on Jaskier. 

“Just  _ fucking _ take our money.” Geralt said, not really meaning to make his voice sound so angry and threatening. “Can’t you see our friend is  _ sick _ ?” The innkeeper took a step back and looked over Geralt’s shoulder at the pair of swords visible. 

“Ok, ok. I get it.” he squeeked, holding his hands up. Ciri shoved the coins at him. “Here’s a key. Third room on the right.” Ciri snatched the key up and carefully pulled one of the coins back.

“That’s for wasting our time, asshole.” she said, glaring. The steps were uneven and Geralt had to go slow, being careful to not miss them. It was easier going up, especially since he could see where Ciri had put her feet, but he didn’t want to step wrong and drop Jaskier. He made it up to the narrow corridor and followed Ciri to their room. It was smaller than the last inn room they had stayed in, but there were two beds this time. They ate a small meal of dried fruit and bread. Geralt woke Jaskier up to give him some bread and water, which he complained about in his language but was either too hungry or too tired to refuse, then tucked him into the softest of the beds. Wordlessly, Ciri climbed into bed and went to sleep. Geralt could not get himself to rest. He spent the night sitting next to Jaskier, stroking his hair and worrying. 

It was hard to tell if Jaskier’s temperature had gone up the next morning. He was just  _ hot _ . He was talking again, but to people who weren’t there. 

“Yen, what’re you doing over there? That’s where the frogs go.” he mumbled as they started their ride. It was a cold morning, and Geralt had wrapped his cloak around both of them. Ciri’s cloak had been a gift from Yen years ago, and its rich dark blue fabric looked strange against her travel-worn gear. It was the only one of her possessions Geralt knew she took special care to keep looking nice. Darned socks and patched pants were all right, but that cloak needed to look pristine at all times. 

“What the fuck is he saying?” she asked, turning around in the saddle and frowning. “What’s Yen doing to frogs?”

“I think the fever’s progressed further than I thought.” Geralt said softly. 

“Geralt, tell Regis he’s not supposed to  _ do _ that.” Jaskier whispered, his words slurring together. “ _ Stopiwch ef… _ ” 

“Shh, love. Get some rest.” Geralt murmured, looping Roach’s reins around the saddle horn and stroking Jaskier’s hair. “You’re ok.” Jaskier muttered in his language for a few minutes, then drifted off to sleep. He continued to talk occasionally in his sleep, crying out names Geralt didn’t recognize or long strings of what sounded like nonsense. They would reach Brokilon by nightfall, Geralt reminded himself. Everything was going to be fine. 

The road curved sharply to the south at a certain point, but they continued over the rise of the edge and into the trees. The horses were used to riding through rough terrain and did not mind the change from packed dirt to roots and bushes. The trees were closer than Geralt remembered, and he had to duck branches often.

“I have missed being in the real wilderness.” Ciri sighed when they stopped in a small clearing. She flopped back into the grass and stared up at the trees. Geralt nodded and tucked Jaskier’s cloak closer around him. The bard muttered and rolled over, pulling the cloak into a cocoon and burying his face in Geralt’s lap. 

“ _ Mam _ ,  _ na… _ ” he said. “It’s only three…” Geralt stroked his hair and studied the colorful leaves lying on the grass. It was such a beautiful time of year. 

“Jaskier, can you drink some water for me, love?” he asked, doing his best to get Jaskier up into something resembling a sitting position. Jaskier scowled at him from under the hood of his cloak. His eyes didn’t quite focus on anything.

“I’m  _ not _ going to do that, Valdo.” he snapped. Geralt sighed and tucked the waterskin into his hands. Jaskier stared at it as Geralt pulled the cork out. “Fine.” He took a surprisingly long swig of it, then nearly dropped it as his hands gave up on holding it. Geralt barely caught it and returned it to the side pocket of his pack. “I wish you would stop giving me your nasty moonshine.” Jaskier commented before collapsing into Geralt’s lap. 

“We know things are bad when Jask thinks you’re Valdo Marx.” Ciri observed, sitting up. The ghost of a smile slipped across her face, then faded immediately. “How far away are we?” Geralt studied their surroundings. 

“I’m not sure.” he admitted. “I know we’ll be there by sundown.” 

“What if the dryads don’t let us in?” Ciri asked. “You know they don’t like humans on their territory. I still don’t know why they let me in.”

“You were a lost and scared little girl.” Geralt said. “Anyways, didn’t they shoot at you?” Ciri shrugged.

“They never hit me.” she said. “Dryads don’t miss unless it’s on purpose.” She pulled up a few strands of grass and began to tear them into smaller pieces. “I don’t know why I’m worrying about things like that.” she continued. “They’ll be able to see we have a wounded man with us.” Geralt nodded. 

“Let’s get back on the...trail.” he said. “I don’t want to get there too far after dark.” They got back in the saddle and continued making their way between the trees. Jaskier started singing to himself in his language. Leaves from the ground began to swirl in time with his song, and a few landed on Geralt’s head. 

“I wonder if he can do that with any language.” Ciri commented. “Have you ever noticed anything strange happening when he sings? I haven’t, but I’ve only been travelling with you for the past….fuck, four years now.” 

“No, I don’t think I have.” Geralt murmured. He did usually get paid when Jaskier started up “Toss a Coin”, but that was probably a coincidence. It was a popular song, and he had assumed it was just Jaskier’s magnetic personality convincing the people of the world that Geralt needed to be paid. Now that Ciri brought it up, however, he wondered if she was right. One of the leaves slapped into his face and he gently removed it. Jaskier changed songs, but the leaves did not stop floating. In fact, they began to grow thicker in the air and surrounded the horses. 

“Jask,” Geralt murmured as Roach tried to bite a leaf out of the sky. “Jask,  _ kochany _ , you’re making things happen.” 

“I know,  _ tad _ , I know it’s happening again.” Jaskier whispered, and the cyclone of leaves drifted to the ground. He settled his head against Geralt’s chest and was silent for the next hour. Ciri and Geralt did not speak for a while.

“The trees look lovely.” Ciri said finally. “All the reds and yellows. Imagine if we had come this road in November.” 

“Hmm.” Geralt said.

“Brokilon never changes, though, does it?” Ciri continued. “It’ll be the same as when I was last there.”

“More or less.” Geralt said. Jaskier shifted in the saddle and murmured a long string of nonsense. Geralt supposed it could have been a new language he didn’t know about, but chances of that were slim. The bushes rustled, and a family of deer traipsed across the path. 

“ _ Carw _ .” Jaskier observed, pulling Geralt’s hand closer around his waist. 

“Hmm.” Geralt kissed him on the top of the head. “I think we’re almost to the forest,  _ kwiatuszku _ .”

“ _ Chciałbym kilogram jabłek _ .” Jaskier recited in a vague sing-song. “ _ Jesteś moim słońcem _ .  _ Ni ddaeth tad adref erioed. _ ”

“I think we only have a few more hours until Brokilon.” Ciri said, looking up at the sky. “The sun’s almost below the trees.” 

“I was right, then.” Geralt said. He sighed and moved his head out of the way of another low-hanging branch. 

It was dark when they reached the banks of the Ribbon. Jaskier had fallen asleep, his hand still holding on tightly to Geralt’s arm. Roach stepped confidently into the water, and Geralt let her carry him undirected across the stream. He could not have seen even in the daylight how deep it was, and he knew his horse had good sense for what was safe. The water brushed against the soles of his boots, and Jaskier muttered something unintelligible and kicked at the water. 

“Shh, we’re ok.” Geralt whispered, squeezing Jaskier’s hand. Roach leapt onto the far bank and stood waiting for Kelpie and Pegasus. 

“It’s deeper than I remember.” Ciri observed. They continued towards the dark mass of trees waiting for them. As they approached the border, there was a rustle and a young dryad Geralt did not recognize appeared out of the bushes. She had short curly hair that had been shaved on the sides, and she regarded them with an interested air. She said something in the Elder Speech, and Ciri responded in the same language. They began to have a very involved conversation. When it was finished, Ciri dismounted and Geralt followed suit. Jaskier didn’t acknowledge being lifted out of the saddle. His breathing had changed slightly, not drastically, but in a way that still concerned Geralt. 

“They’ll take care of the horses.” Ciri said, going to Roach and pulling Geralt’s pack off of where it was strapped to the saddlebags. “We need to go on foot to…” She asked the dryad a question and received an answer. “The inner parts of the forest. Where the fae are.” Geralt looked up at the tall trees and nodded. The dryad began to lead the way into the forest, and another dryad appeared from the bushes to lead the horses in another direction. Geralt knew they would be taken care of and that the things filling their saddlebags would be kept safe, but he still did not like watching their horses leave them. He adjusted his hold on Jaskier so that he could put his hand on Ciri’s elbow. It was not the right night to walk into a tree. The forest was warm and filled with silver light, as if the moon were still full above the close canopy. Animals rustled amongst the leaves, and a bird began to trill. There was a quiet cracking of branches, and the queen of the dryads stepped from the shadow of the trees.

“Geralt, Cirilla.” she said, nodding to acknowledge them both. “It has been a while since you were in our forest.”

“Eithné, it is usually a pleasure to see you.” Geralt said, returning the nod. Eithné sighed and studied the limp figure in his arms.

“Many of us knew this was how he would return, but the knowledge does not make it easier to bear.” she observed. “I was surprised when he came to us when you were here healing. I expected that he would not come back until the prophesied day.” She looked up at the canopy. “It is time for him to return to his people.” she said, as if the few stars visible through the thick leaves had told her this. “Keep walking straight through the forest. It will guide you on your path. And...here.” She raised her hand and said a few words. Geralt felt a shiver pass through him. “That will help you as you journey.”

“You say that as if we have to walk a long way.” Ciri said, and Eithné smiled. 

“No one knows how far the fae’s part of the forest really is from here.” she said. “You will see. Now, go. Time is short.” She turned and disappeared into the brush, leaving them alone.

“Well, let’s go.” Ciri said, turning and leading the way into the forest. Geralt let go of her arm and kept as close behind her as he could reasonably manage. It grew progressively darker as they walked, and he felt as if the trees were pressing closer around them. They walked for a long time, surrounded by the quiet rustling of leaves in the wind and their own breathing. Jaskier’s breaths were becoming more erratic and uneven. 

“Don’t you die on me now.” Geralt whispered, holding him closer. “You are  _ not _ leaving me.” They kept walking. The whisper of the wind had turned to something that sounded like voices. It was as if they were surrounded by invisible people. Geralt endured it for about five minutes, then decided that he couldn’t stand listening to whispering and his lover slowly dying in his arms any longer. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if that mattered in the darkness and with his own lack of functional vision, then began to sing softly. He rarely sang, and even when he did it was only to make Jaskier happy, but now felt like as good a time as any. 

“The old oak stood at the top of the hill,

For years upon years it stood.

I waited there for years on end,

To find a woman good.

Oh old oak, why the years have flown,

I know you’ll never say.

Oh old oak, I am lost and alone,

I just want her to stay.”

Ciri joined him for the second verse, and he felt Jaskier stirring against his chest. 

“The old fence waits up on the moor,

For years and years it waits.

I’ve danced by it for many a year,

To call my love to the gate.

Oh old fence, why the night is cold,

I know you’ll never tell.

Oh old fence, I am worn and old,

I’ve lost the place he fell.”

The whispers had grown, and Geralt could hear traces of Jaskier’s language floating down to them. It reminded him of the Elder Speech; it had the same sing-song quality to it. As he listened, straining over the sound of his own voice, he caught a few words.

“ _ Blackthorn….ei mab….her son. _ ” Geralt paused the song, allowing Ciri to continue, and frowned. He knew that voice had been speaking the language, but he had understood it clear as if it were speaking Common. 

“Geralt, what is it?” Ciri asked, stopping her own singing.

“Listen.” Geralt said.

“ _ Someone call Blackthorn….Blaidd Gwyn….the White Wolf is here…” _

“I can understand them.” Ciri whispered. “Is that what Eithné was casting on us?” Geralt shrugged, forgetting that Ciri couldn’t see him. They kept walking. The darkness began to press on his eyes in a way it had never done before. When you were blind, the dark was nice. It evened the playing field and made sure that no one could see better than you. As a boy, Geralt would often purposefully blow candles out when he and the other witcher children wrestled so he could win more easily. Eskel had always accused him of cheating when he did that. This dark was different. It was a malicious darkness, trying to keep these interlopers back by taking away their light. They stepped over a quietly burbling stream, and Jaskier twitched suddenly. The darkness abruptly vanished, and they were standing in a clearing surrounded by trees. The whispers went away as soon as the darkness did. The moonlight shone strong, although the canopy had not changed. Geralt stopped walking, and Ciri did as well.

“Is this it?” she murmured. “I was expecting–”

“ _ Blaidd Gwyn _ .” A tall figure was standing before them. Geralt couldn’t make them out clearly, but he got an impression of large hair and an imposing physique. “Give him back to me.” Geralt stepped back instinctively, holding Jaskier close. “ _ Give him back to me _ !” the figure screamed, her voice cutting through the peaceful silence of the night. Geralt could not resist. He knew he was being compelled by magic, but he could not stop his feet from stepping over roots that in normal circumstances he would never have noticed or his arms from giving the unconscious bard over to the person demanding him. He watched, helplessly, as the figure who had taken his lover vanished into the darkness of the forest and left him standing helplessly in the clearing.


	6. 'Tis you who have a part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri and Geralt experience the strange workings of fairy culture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a Burning in the Bloodstream  
> A whisper in the Heart;  
> "Come, list unto your Soul's Dream  
> T'is You who have a part. -Phyliss Beebe, “Sidheseeker”

“What the  _ fuck _ was that?” Ciri exclaimed, staring angrily into the woods where the figure had disappeared. “Why did she just  _ take _ him? As if he were  _ hers _ ?” Geralt did not have an answer. He stood in the center of the clearing, his hands open at his sides. He did not know what to do. It felt as if the rug of the universe had been pulled out from under his feet. “We should go after him.” Ciri continued, pacing the perimeter of the forest. “Demand that she lets us stay with him, at  _ least _ . I’m going to go and–”

“Rather feisty aren’t we, little Lion Cub?” Ciri leapt back and drew her sword, and Geralt put his hand to the hilt of his dagger. A woman had appeared out of the darkness. It was not the same person who had taken Jaskier away. This woman was shorter, and had long dark green hair. Her brown skin was tinged green, as if there was green light shining out from under her skin, and her eyes glowed in the forest twilight. “Be careful with that, hmm.” the woman said, not reacting to Ciri’s weapon. She stepped further into the moonlight and smiled a full smile, revealing sharp teeth. “We don’t want anyone else getting hurt now, do we?”

“Who the  _ fuck _ are you?” Ciri snarled. The woman smiled and crossed the clearing to stand in front of Geralt. Now that she was so close to him, he could see that her hair was woven into dreadlocks, in the style of the dryads. Her feet were bare and her dress, which was silver and shimmered even in the shadows, fell to just past her knees and hung off of her shoulders. If she had not been so odd in her other ways, it would have been a scandalous outfit indeed. 

“So you’re the White Wolf.” she said, regarding him with curiosity. “You’re the one who’s stolen Dandelion’s heart. Interesting. I didn’t know he went in for the strong and silent type.” She padded around him, like a cat sizing up a meal. “Hmm, hmm, very interesting indeed.” Geralt stayed very still and kept his hand on his dagger. He had no idea what this woman was planning to do to them. “You know, Blackthorn is  _ very _ angry that you are here.” the woman continued, stopping in front of him and folding her arms across her chest. “She should have known, of course, but she’s still angry.” 

“Stop talking in riddles.” Ciri snapped. “Tell us who you are.” The woman twirled to face Ciri and grinned at her. 

“Oh,  _ dear _ Lion Cub, or should I say Lioness, you are feisty!” she said. “Blackthorn was not expecting you, I don’t think.  _ We _ hoped you would come, of course. We do not deny the words of prophecy and destiny and oracles.” 

“Rosethorn, my darling, you are a tease.” Another person appeared out of the shadows. This newcomer was tall and lanky, and covered in black fur. They were shaped approximately like a monkey crossed with a rabbit, and their tall ears were erect and turned every so often to listen to something behind them. “Leave these poor witchers alone and give them a straight answer.” 

“Thistle, you are no fun.” Rosethorn pouted and stuck out her bottom lip at this strange newcomer. “Look, you’re scaring the Lion Cub.” The new figure shifted in a frightening way and became a dark-skinned man wearing very fine, very black clothing. His eyes had the same yellow light as Rosethorn’s, and he had kept his big black ears.

“Perhaps we may converse better in this way.” he said, bowing dramatically to Geralt and Ciri. His dreadlocks fell into his face, and he pushed them back. “The laird Thistle, at your service.”

“Oh, so you’re a laird now, are you?” Rosethorn said. “You’ve been up north too long, you  _ pric pwdin _ .”

“Only a decade or two, madam Rosethorn.” Thistle countered. “If my lovely Loch-òir would but accept my proposal of marriage then I would truly be a laird, but alas they are ignoring my love letters.” 

“Cause you left her to come back to the forest.” Rosethorn said, raising her eyebrow at him. “They’ll forgive you. Always does.”

“I wasn’t going to miss  _ this _ .” Thistle pointed out. 

“Oh, so my brother coming back is an event now, is it?”

“He was my best friend for nigh on two centuries, wasn’t he?” Rosethorn stuck her tongue, which was long and resembled a snake’s tongue, out at him. Thistle laughed. “None of that. We ought to help these poor lost witchers understand what they’ve wandered into.” 

“Yes, I would like a goddamn explanation.” Ciri had sheathed her sword, but her fists were clenched. “We didn’t ride for four days just to listen to your fucking nonsense banter.”

“ _ Llewes _ , you are just what your name promised.” Thistle said, rubbing his hands together. “You have been riding for a long time. Come, sit.” He waved his hand, and a circle of four comfortable chairs appeared, along with a table piled with fruits. Ciri and Geralt did not sit. “Oh, come on. The stories you humans tell. We won’t trap you here in the forests with our fruit, nor with our chairs.” Thistle sighed. “Honestly, I would have thought Dandelion taught you better.” 

“They didn’t know he was Tylwyth Teg.” Rosethorn said in a sing-song voice, sitting in one of the chairs and selecting an apple with delicate concentration. “No, they did not.” Geralt stepped forward cautiously and sat in one of the chairs. Ciri went to stand behind the other and leaned on it, watching Rosethorn eating with a wary eye. Thistle melted into the final chair and selected a cake from somewhere in the bowl of fruit. 

“Well, your loss.” he said when the witchers did not move to take any food. “Now. What do you  _ actually _ know?”

“That’s not what matters.” Ciri said. “I want to know who that...person was, and where Jaskier is.” 

“Jaskier.” Rosethorn repeated. “What a name he picked for himself.” Thistle kicked her. He was also not wearing boots or shoes, and his feet were surprisingly human. 

“Dandelion is safe,” he said. “He will be healed and well cared for, and in about a week, I’d say, he will be ready to go off frolicing over the country as you so love to do. ‘That person’ was his lovely mother.”

“Blackthorn of the Forest Green.” Rosethorn recited. “Stone in her heart and vines in her hair.” She giggled. “It is a good thing our Dandelion inherited Papa’s skill with the verse.”

“So you’re Jaskier’s sister.” Ciri said, regarding Rosethorn with mistrust.

“Oh, yes.” Rosethorn smiled. “Took after our mother, didn’t I? Papa was more than half human, we always said. Dandelion barely even needed that little glamour Thistle whipped up for him.”

“The humans would have noticed.” Thistle said. “Their hair doesn’t change when they get angry, and most of them don’t have quite the same kind of teeth your family has.” Rosethorn grinned, and Geralt wondered how he had never noticed the shape of Jaskier’s teeth when he had kissed him. “Oh, don’t look like that, witcher.” Thistle frowned at him. “There’s nothing wrong with kissing a sharp-toothed fairy. Anyways, my glamour is too good to let you notice something small like that.”

“How the hell did you know that was what I was thinking?” Geralt asked, his voice quiet. He did not look at the fairy, or whatever this person was.

“I can see it in your face.” Thistle said. “Not that you’d know about that kind of thing.” He laughed softly, and Geralt stared at him. “We fairies, we have our ways of knowing.”

“Did Dandelion tell you about the prophecy, or do we have to break that news?” Rosethorn asked, tossing the core of her apple into the trees. 

“We know about that.” Geralt said. “He told us, he told me how he left the forest.”

“Oh, he did.” Rosethorn smiled enigmatically. “That was quite a day, that was. Do you remember, Thistle?” 

“It was a night, wasn’t it?” Thistle said. “All that shouting. I thought for sure Blackthorn would pull down the forest to stop him from leaving.”

“Mother is  _ so _ overdramatic.” Rosethorn rolled her eyes. “She didn’t need to pull out her flowers.”

“Dandelion got Tamlane’s voice, though.” Thistle observed. “Lucky for him. Even her little tricks couldn’t stand up to that.” Rosethorn nodded in agreement.

“So, Jaskier’s mother who tried to stop him from leaving has him and is the one healing him?” Ciri asked. “And we’re supposed to not worry about that?” Rosethorn and Thistle exchanged a look.

“We-ell.” Thistle said. “I did say you shouldn’t worry about him. Worrying about getting him back, well...that’s another question.”

“Mother will do everything she can to stop Dandelion leaving again.” Rosethorn said cheerfully. “Even if she knows it’s a lost cause. That’s not what the prophecy says.”

“Blackthorn forgets that lost and dead are different things.” Thistle said, taking another cake from the bowl that was still only full of fruit. “She has lost him because his heart is no longer with the forest and with her.”

“As if it ever was.” Rosethorn snorted. “He’s been wanting to go wandering since Papa died.” 

“That he has.” Thistle said. “But Blackthorn would never blame her sweet Tamlane for anything, much less lovely little Dandelion’s wandering feet.”

“Papa went wandering with his lute all across the Continent and into the places no one else would go, and he fell on the swords of the humans.” Rosethorn said, again in a lilting sing-song. “They wanted the elves and they got fairy blood too. And my brother heard the news and got the lute back and decided he was going to go out there. Because if the humans didn’t have the songs of the forest, where would they be? And when he was gone and she was raging all across the forest, demanding that the queen let her go after him, we all tried to tell her that when he found his way to his destiny, he would be fine, but she did not care. She thought that being with a witcher would get him killed.” She laughed. “Dandelion doesn’t need a witcher to get himself into trouble, oh no. But she’ll blame you for this. She always blames destiny.” 

“Always.” Thistle agreed. “And then she tries to ignore it. Getting our queen involved won’t help. The queen loves a little drama, but she will accept the fate destiny has set out. For a price, of course. There is always a price.” 

“What the  _ fuck _ does that mean?” Ciri snapped.

“And to think she was a princess before you whisked her away to your little castle, witcher.” Thistle laughed companionably. Geralt glowered at him. 

“Little lion, your lovely bard has been  _ promised _ .” Rosethorn said, leaning forward. Her eyes gleamed. “Much to his chagrin, of course. That’s partly why he left when he did. Oh, when Mother told him what she had done, he was so angry I thought he was going to leave right then.”

“What did she do?” Geralt was sure he knew what the answer was, but he knew that if he did not ask directly, these fairies would take the conversation away to a different subject all together. He had thought Jaskier rambled and got off topic, but this was infuriating on a level that Jaskier’s strange little monologues never were.

“Blackthorn promised Dandelion to the queen’s eldest daughter.” Thistle said. “Eldest son for an eldest daughter? Just the kind of exchange the queen likes. Of course, there’s a hefty dowry involved, but that is nothing compared to the status being the mother-in-law of the future queen gives. Blackthorn can spare a little treasure. She was gentry long before I ever even considered becoming a laird up north.”

“What does that mean for us?” Ciri asked. “He can say no to a marriage like that. ...can’t he?”

“Who would want to deny the daughter of the queen?” Rosethorn asked, a mischievous smile dancing on her face. 

_ Who indeed, _ Geralt thought, a sick feeling rising in his chest. 

“And there’s the question of the dowry, too.” Rosethorn continued. “The queen is getting quite a large sum from my mother. We love our transactions. Oh yes, we do.” Thistle kicked her again.

“Stop it, you awful awful woman.” he said. “Let’s leave these good people in peace to sleep. They’ve been traveling for so long.” He stood and waved his hand. They were standing in an empty clearing again. “Do not worry about wild animals. We take care of that.” He smiled and disappeared into the shadows. Rosethorn smiled and followed him. 

“Shit.” Ciri said, throwing her pack down on the ground and tossing Geralt his. He caught it and held it, staring at the trees. “He’s right. We should sleep.” Geralt sat down and set up his bedroll before taking his armor and boots off. “Jaskier’s not going to go with the queen’s daughter. You know he isn’t.” Ciri added, undoing her own armor and setting her sword beside her bedroll. “He’s too in love with you.”

“What’s a witcher to a queen’s daughter?” Geralt murmured. “He wouldn’t have to wander the continent here, and he certainly wouldn’t get mauled by bloodthirsty villagers.”

“Do you really think he gives a shit about that?” Ciri asked. “I haven’t had to spend the last four years listening to you two being all sappy over each other for nothing. He’d go with you to the ends of the earth, and he has.” She poked him in the thigh with her foot. “I thought we’d trained you out of doubting your worth to us.” Geralt frowned at her. “Anyways, he left here even though he knew he was promised to her, so if his deep and undying love for you doesn’t convince you, maybe the facts will.” 

“Maybe you’re right.” Geralt said cautiously.

“I am right.” Ciri said. “I’m a princess, too, remember?”

“We’ll have to think of something to use for a dowry.” Geralt mused, crawling under the blankets of his bedroll and staring up at the canopy. “Fuck. Does this mean Jaskier and I have to get married? We’ve never discussed anything like that.”

“In fae terms, maybe.” Ciri said. “You get to decide what that actually means.”

“Hmm.” 

“We’ll figure it out in the morning, once we’ve rested.” Ciri said.

“Since when are you in charge of deciding what the plans are?” Geralt turned his head to look at her, and she smiled.

“I’m a grown woman, Geralt. It’s about time I took some control around here.” she said. 

“I’m sure it is, Cirilla.” Geralt sighed. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Ciri rolled over and settled down under her blankets. Geralt lay there awake for hours. He was not sure if he ever did sleep that night. 


	7. I am half sick of shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier wakes up and gets an update

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But in her web she still delights  
> To weave the mirror's magic sights.  
> For often through the silent nights  
> A funeral, with plumes and lights  
> And music, went to Camelot;  
> Or when the moon was overhead,  
> Came two young lovers lately wed.  
> “I am half sick of shadows,” said,  
> The lady of Shalott. -Alfred Lord Tennyson, “The Lady of Shalott”
> 
> Just a random update for those of you who have been reading since before this chapter was originally posted: I've added a note at the end of the very first chapter that has some videos talking about seeing and existing as a blind person (from an actual blind YouTuber) just for those of you who've commented or who maybe haven't commented but have been wondering about why I've written Geralt as actually seeing things (might have forgotten the idea of blind people seeing something is a wild one to sighted people who don't have blind friends...). I'm going to update that note again because my very good friend, the love of my life and the queen of my heart, is writing up a lil thing from her own perspective of being blind so stay tuned! Love y'all and thank you for reading!!

When he first woke up, Jaskier was not entirely sure where he was. He stared up at the patterns of the leaves that make up the ceiling and tried to get his brain to think. It was still sluggish from fever, and his whole body still ached. He sat up and groaned softly as his head throbbed. The room shifted slightly, and he looked around to see if there was something to drink. A wooden cup sat on the table beside the bed he was lying on, and he reached for it. As his hand came into his vision, he paused. The burn on his arm had faded to a faint red, but that was not what caught his eye. He put his other hand to his chest and found that his necklace, the one Thistle had woven a glamour around, was gone. That explained the fact that his arm was green-tinged again.

“ _ Fuck _ .” he moaned, forgetting about the water. The room became familiar at once. It was his former room in his mother’s house. They had made it to Brokilon, but they were not with the dryads. They were in fairy country, and he was in his mother’s clutches again. “Fuck, shit,  _ damnit _ .” he raged at the silent walls. He slid out of bed–he was naked, of  _ course _ his mother had taken his nice human clothes–and began to march towards his wardrobe. The floor shifted abruptly, and he blacked out for a second. When he came to, he was lying on the woven leaves that made up the structure of the house. 

“Trying to escape, are we?” Thistle appeared in the corner of the room in his natural form and dropped down from the shelf he was perched on.

“How long have you been sitting there, you asshole?” Jaskier grumbled affectionately, sitting up and putting his swimming head in his hands. He could feel that his hair was in the fluffy dandelion-like form it always became when he felt strong emotions. “What did Mother do with my necklace?”

“I can get it back easily.” Thistle said, as if that counted as an answer. “Do you want pants? We can’t have you wandering through Brokilon completely nude, although I don’t think certain visitors to our woods would mind that.” 

“I think if Geralt saw me prancing about with no clothes on, he would be incredibly worried for my mental well-being.” Jaskier commented. Thistle went to the wardrobe and opened it, causing a shower of dust and homeless spiders. 

“Well, this certainly hasn’t been used in...oh, about thirty years.” Thistle observed, pulling a pair of braeis out of one of the shelves and tossing them to Jaskier. It was hard to put pants on without standing up, but Jaskier had practiced putting on clothes under blankets enough that he had little trouble. Thistle perched in the chair that sat at the table in the corner and watched him. Jaskier had been away for so long that he was briefly unnerved by the goat eyes staring out at him from the rabbity face. 

“Where’s Geralt?” he asked, crossing his legs gingerly. The blisters on his ankles were still sore, although they had healed over nicely. He would have scars there, but he had expected that. 

“Oh, you  _ are  _ in love with him.” Thistle exclaimed. “Asking about your witcher before anyone else in this entire forest? So cruel, ignoring your sisters’ existence.” He did not say anything about Jaskier’s mother.

“Where is he, Thistle?” Jaskier said, frowning up at his friend. He had forgotten how flippant the púca could be. 

“Camping in the border clearing with that lovely daughter of his.” Thistle said. “She is his daughter, isn’t she? The Lion Cub of Cintra. I don’t know what I was expecting when I heard that name, but I certainly got a lioness. She had claws and she’s not afraid to use them.”

“I hope she tried to skewer you for your roundabout way of talking, you cad.” Jaskier said, grinning. It was strange to feel the jagged edges of his teeth again. 

“Oh, she did indeed, although I think she would rather have turned her sword on your lovely sister.” Thistle replied.

“Who did you bring? Brackenbramble?” Jaskier guessed.

“I would never unleash such a mischievous bairn upon our guests.” Thistle put a hand to his chest as if he were scandalized that Jaskier would ever suspect him of such a thing. “No, I did not bring anyone. Rosethorn went of her own accord and I could not stop her for the life of me.” 

“Oh, good. Rosethorn is the best sister for them to meet.” Jaskier had five sisters, and each was mischievous in their own distinctive way. Rosethorn was the least wild of the group, and even she had a tendency to lead unsuspecting persons on wild goose chases into the depths of the forest for the fun of it. 

“Who would be the worst sister, so I can give them the true experience?” Thistle asked.

“You know as well as I do that Tumblestone would enchant them into whatever creature she loves right now as soon as she laid her eyes on them.” Jaskier said. “But Rosethorn is the only one who would not try to lay a finger on them.”

“It’s because she’s the smartest of the lot.” Thistle observed. “She knows you’d tear her limb from limb if she enchanted a single hair on that handsome  _ blaidd _ of yours.” 

“Oh, I would.” Jaskier bared his teeth, and Thistle cackled. 

“I have missed you, Dandelion.” he sighed, coming down off of the chair and sitting on the floor beside him. “Although I know you’re happier out there in the world, with the White Wolf.”

“I haven’t spoken to you more than ten minutes and you know that already.” Jaskier said.

“You asked about him before anyone else, before you wanted to know the gossip and the scandals that have happened, and oh, there have been so many of those.” Thistle regarded him with his keen eyes. “You don’t want to be here. I know you don’t.”

“Mother will want me to stay.” Jaskier said, sighing. “She will try to make me stay. That’s why she’s left Geralt and Ciri outside of the city. So we can’t get to each other easily.” 

“Prophecy is a powerful thing.” Thistle observed. “She can’t stop that.” 

“No, I don’t suppose she can.” Jaskier said. “But she can try, and she can make it hard for us.” He sighed again. “I don’t suppose Snowberry has persuaded her mother to find another suitor in the years I’ve been gone?” 

“The queen has been waiting to see what will come of this prophecy of yours.” Thistle said. “You know her. She’ll wait forever just to see something like that come to fruition.”

“And the queen won’t listen to her daughter when it comes to something like that.” Jaskier added. “I remember. I was just hoping.”

“Everyone except the queen knows Snowberry has eyes for darling Rosethorn.” Thistle said, standing and wandering about the room. “Rosethorn and her strong arms and her powerful magic that almost rivals her mother’s. A much better catch for a young queen’s daughter than a minstrel with wandering feet and eyes for another.”

“It would be just what Rosethorn wants.” Jaskier said. “But oh, no, my mother wants to tie me to the forest and to the queen so I’ll never leave and never think about marching off into the wide world. She’s convinced I’m tired of smelling like horse and sleeping under the stars, but she’s never fucked a witcher, has she?”

“It’s not the fucking you love.” Thistle grinned. “I know you. You’re a romantic, Dandelion.”

“I am.” Jaskier stood up and tottered back to the bed. “I’m in love with that  _ man _ , Thistle. Him and his strong hands and his voice and his...his quiet way of loving. Even if I know he would leave me for his horse any day.”

“He can’t love his horse more than he loves you.” Thistle laughed.

“Oh, you underestimate Geralt of Rivia’s love for that horse.” Jaskier said. “Trust me, I’ve known that man for nigh on thirty years now, and every horse he’s had he’s loved with his whole heart.”

“Then he must have two hearts.” Thistle countered. “I know people, and I know how to read their faces. That man, that handsome witcher sitting out there in the forest, he loves you. He’ll give anything to get you back from your mother.”

“He doesn’t have something the queen would want.” Jaskier grew serious now. “You know what my mother’s offering for a dowry, and it’s more than what the three of us own together. What’s a witcher supposed to give that’ll match fairy gentry riches?” 

“Rosethorn and I will put our heads together and figure something out.” Thistle promised. “And I’m sure you can think of something.” 

“I’ll have to do it soon or Mother will drive Geralt and Ciri out. You know how she is with unwanted suitors.” Jaskier rubbed his hands over his face. “I hate this. I wish I had never turned back to stop those awful villagers.”

“What happened?” Thistle sat on the end of the bed. “No one really knows what happened to you, not even Blackthorn. I guess we didn’t think to ask your witchers.”

“We had a run in with some bigoted villagers and I decided to help us get away by distracting them.” Jaskier said. “I dropped my glamour and I ran straight into the mob.” He rubbed his shoulder and winced. The wound was nothing more than a dull ache now, but he knew it would be the kind of injury that would keep aching for the rest of his life. 

“That was brave of you.” Thistle whistled, seeming impressed. “Did you think you could enchant them away?”

“I just wanted them to leave Geralt and Ciri alone.” Jaskier said. “They didn’t want them, they wanted fairy blood. They wanted me.” 

“Sacrificing yourself for love.” Thistle said. “Very noble of you. You really do love him.” Jaskier made a coy face at him. “Tell me about him.” Thistle shifted into his man-shape and sat cross legged on the end of the bed. 

“It has been a long time since you’ve asked me to do that.” Jaskier said, raising his eyebrows. “And I don’t even have my lute.”

“Do you really need a lute to weave your web of musical magic?” Thistle asked, cocking his head to the side and smiling at Jaskier. “Or have you gotten rusty in your time among the humans?”

“Of course I haven’t.” Jaskier wrinkled his nose at his friend. “Hold on, let me think of something. I’m rusty at this.” 

“Now that your witchers know, you can do it for them.” Thistle pointed out.

“I guess.” Jaskier ran his fingers through his hair, which had returned to its usual texture, and clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “All right.” He sat up a little straighter and hummed up a scale, searching for the right starting note. Once he had sung through the tune to himself under his breath, he began to sing.

“I remember walking through a forest full of flowers.

I remember running with your hand clasped in mine.

I remember years of waiting for the answer,

And I remember gaining it in one quiet night.”

The bed they were sitting on was suddenly surrounded by the illusion trees and long grass, with flowers poking through the brush. Phantom images of Jaskier and Geralt appeared and kissed passionately. They continued to follow the lyrics of Jaskier’s song as much as he was willing to allow them.

“When you hold me I feel the world stand still,

And when you smile, I feel it in my soul. 

And when you stand there with your sword unsheathed,

And your hair all loose and blowing in the wind,

And when you smile in that secret way,

And press my back just in the right place,

And when you kiss me, just so,

I remember why I love you.

“I remember fingers tangled in my hair.

I remember feeling the grass against my back.

I remember flowers rising up around us,

And I remember moonlight shining in your hair.

When you touch me I feel the world turn around,

And when you laugh I feel the sun return.

And when you talk to your horse like she understands,

And the way you and Ciri walk together,

And when you tell a story and your eyes light up,

And how you talk to lost children,

And when you kiss me, in passing,

I remember why I love you.”

His voice faded, and the figures did as well. Thistle had been entranced by Jaskier’s illusions, but as they disappeared he turned back to Jaskier with a smile on his face.

“Don’t you try and tell me he loves the horse more than he loves you.” he said, teasingly. Jaskier made a face at him, and Thistle cackled. “All right, now that I’ve pulled that out of you, I think it’s time for you to go back to sleep.”

“I still haven’t seen Geralt.” Jaskier said stubbornly, putting his legs over the edge of the bed. Thistle muttered a few words, and the blankets forcibly tucked Jaskier back under them. “Traitor! Why did you give me pants if you were just going to make me go back to bed?” 

“What do you expect from me?” Thistle asked, standing and returning to his natural state. “We púca are known for our benevolent mischief, after all.” He waved his hands in the air, and Jaskier felt sleep begin to call him.

“Fuck you, Thistle.” he grumbled, rolling onto his unwounded side and pulling the blankets close around himself. He was asleep moments after he had settled down onto the pillow.

When he woke up again, morning light was filtering through the leaves of the ceiling. He felt significantly better. His fever was all but gone, and the pain from his injuries was only noticeable when he moved the affected limbs. Jaskier sat up and noted that the wooden cup by his bed had been replaced by a bowl of soup and a different cup of water. He took a long draught and began to devour the soup. As he ate, the door opened and his mother came in. Jaskier spared her nothing more than a glance before returning to his soup. She looked the same as ever, not that he had been expecting anything less. The vines that formed her hair were loose and wove around her head in a thick tangle of plant life, and her dark green skin still held that strange luster to it, as if she was filled with light. He could feel her eyes on him as he ate, determinedly ignoring her presence. 

“Dandelion,” she began, then stopped. Jaskier knew she could see the florets beginning to appear on his head. The quiet rage and resentment boiling deep in his soul could not be hidden by eating soup. It was one of the trials of being fae. “Dandelion, I know you are ignoring me. It is very childish of you.” Jaskier set his bowl back on the bedside table and got out of bed. His mother remained where she was as he rummaged through the wardrobe and found a pair of pants that resembled the kind of pants he was now accustomed to wearing–his taste in clothing before he had gone to university had been so strange–and a simple shirt. Usually he would not have bothered to lace it up, but he needed something to do while his mother was still standing there, looking over his shoulder. “I am not sorry for keeping the White Wolf out of the city.” she continued. It was the worst thing she could have said. Jaskier knew his hair had gone fully white. “It is in your best interest that you forget about him. He will cause your death one of these days. It was luck that you did not die because of his carelessness this time.” 

“It was not Geralt who put me in danger.” Jaskier snapped, turning on his heel and staring at her. “It was my decision that put me in the way of iron arrows and iron chains. Geralt saved my  _ fucking _ life.”

“If you had not gone travelling with him you would never have been there in the first place.” his mother countered, her green eyes blazing. When Jaskier had been younger, he had wished he had gotten his mother’s brilliant green eyes instead of his father’s boring, human-like blue eyes, but since he had left he was grateful he did not have much to connect him to his mother.

“If I had not gone travelling with him I wouldn’t be here.” Jaskier snapped. “I would be back in Oxenfurt teaching, and I wouldn’t have needed to come back to this place.” He turned away from her and began to rummage through the collection of cloaks and doublets. 

“I want to protect you, Dandelion.” his mother wheedled. “I just want you to be safe, and you cannot be truly safe out there, with him. Snowberry is a good woman, and when you marry her she will bring honor to our family.”

“We’re already gentry, Mother, what more honor do we need?” Jaskier said. “Let Rosethorn take my place. She wouldn’t mind. She’s been fucking Snowberry for the past hundred years already.”

“Do  _ not _ say things like that about your sister.” Blackthorn exclaimed.

“It’s the truth. The whole forest knows it.” Jaskier retorted. “You can’t force me into a betrothal I never agreed to. Especially since I’ve been romantically involved with someone else for the past decade.”

“With a human. And a witcher, no less.” his mother said. “That means nothing in the forest. Does he have a dowry to offer? Will he be able to give you a stable home?”

“He is my home!” Jaskier yelled. “He protects me as much as I need, which isn’t much seeing as I’m a grown man with fucking magic powers! What the hell is staying in the forest and marrying Snowberry going to give me? I’d probably wander off and go right back to sleeping in Geralt’s bedroll in the great wide world, just like Papa. Did you think he wanted to stay when he was here? With a wife like you?” 

“I loved your father,” Blackthorn began, her eyes glowing with rage.

“And I love Geralt! Is that so hard to understand?” Jaskier interrupted, balling his hands into fists. “He’s my  _ goddamn destiny _ !”

“That prophecy was wrong.” Blackthorn protested. “I haven’t lost you. You’re alive.”

“You sure as fuck have lost me.” Jaskier snarled. “After I’m well enough to travel you won’t see me ever again. Not if it means coming back here and having to listen to you asking me to leave the man I love for my sister’s lover. I would give  _ anything _ to leave here  _ right now. _ ” Blackthorn stared at him, her eyes filled with anger. Her hair was standing straight out, and any flowers that had been growing in it when she had first entered the room were gone, chased away by anger. Without a word, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room. 

Jaskier stood by his wardrobe, his hands shaking. He wanted to throw things around the room and scream and cry, but that was not productive. He was over two hundred years old; he could handle his anger in a healthy way. He was going to go find Geralt, and they were going to leave. As he came to that decision, a realization struck him, and he turned and began to hurry as fast as his aching ankles would let him out of his room. Their house was large, as most gentry homes were, and it had winding corridors. The thirty years he had been away had not taken his knowledge of the layout, and he was soon storming down the main stairs and out of the front doors.

The city of the fairies of Brokilon was woven into the fabric of the forest. A human eye would never know that the wide trees and strange arrangements of leaves in the canopy were houses. It was market day, and Jaskier wove his way around the diverse assortment of fairies that bustled about the main plaza their family house looked out on. A few people recognized him and called greetings, but no one tried to talk to him. The benefit of being a fairy and having your emotions shown was that everyone knew when you were angry and when they shouldn’t try to talk to you. He began to feel just a little dizzy as he left the wide plaza and began to march across the main road that connected the city and the rest of the forest, but he kept walking, ignoring the pains that had started shooting up from his ankles. 

“Dandelion, where the  _ fuck _ are you going?” Thistle appeared from between two shops and began to keep pace with Jaskier. He was in his human form, and his tall rabbit’s ears bounced in time with his steps. “You know you need to rest up to get your strength back.”

“I don’t have time to rest, Thistle.” Jaskier said. They left the houses behind and began to march through the forest proper. “Mother’s on the warpath.”

“What did you do?” Thistle asked.

“I told her the truth.” Jaskier said simply, and Thistle cursed.


	8. I care not for heaven and I fear not hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He will call my name and lift me to his breast,  
> (Blow soft O wind 'neath the stars of the south!)  
> I care not for heaven and I fear not hell  
> If I have but the kisses of his proud red mouth. - Moireen Fox, “The Fairy Lover”
> 
> It's the penultimate chapter y'all! Thanks for reading!!

Geralt and Ciri were sitting in the clearing that marked the border between fae country and the dryad’s part of the forest. When Jaskier and Thistle came crashing through the bushes, they both leapt to their feet. Ciri drew her sword, but lowered it when she saw who it was. 

“Jaskier, wh–” Geralt began, stepping forward and catching Jaskier around the waist as his legs finally gave out. “You’re shaking, love. Is everything all right? Should you even be out of bed?” Jaskier buried his face in Geralt’s shoulder and breathed in the comfortably familiar scent of his witcher. Geralt held him close and kissed him on top of the head. Jaskier had been expecting some level of hesitation upon seeing what he had really looked like under the glamour this whole time, but Geralt showed no sign of shock at Jaskier’s dandelion-seed hair or greenish skin. 

“He should be.” Thistle said, and Jaskier knew his friend was folding his arms and frowning in that way he did when he was pretending to be disappointed in someone. “This foolish man has barely been healed two days and already he’s running around the forest. It’s like he’s madly in love with someone or something.”

“Haha, Thistle, you’re hilarious.” Jaskier said, not moving from his place in Geralt’s arms. He turned his head slightly so that Ciri could hear him more clearly. “My mother is up to something. I know she is.”

“What did she do, cackle at you?” Thistle asked.

“She left the room when we were arguing.” Jaskier said, and Thistle whistled.

“Damn.” he said. “That’s a big deal, especially with Blackthorn.”

“What did Mother do this time?” Jaskier looked up this time. Rosethorn was sauntering across the clearing, her braids done up in a knot on the top of her head and a collection of flowers growing around the base. 

“Oh, good, the party can start.” Thistle said wryly.

“Hello, Rosethorn. It’s been a while.” Jaskier shifted around so that he was still leaning against Geralt but able to converse with the others. “You look the same as ever.”

“You’ve been fighting with her.” Rosethorn said, folding her arms and regarding his fluffy white hair. “I saw her storming to the palace muttering to herself.”

“Oohh, not the muttering. The muttering is the worst.” Thistle said. “She muttered when you left, Dandelion. Someone’s going to pay for this.” Geralt’s hold on Jaskier tightened.

“What is  _ this _ ?” Ciri asked, sheathing her sword at last. She had looked fully ready to gut Thistle or Rosethorn, whoever seemed most likely to be about to cause trouble. 

“I told my mother I wasn’t going to stay here no matter how she tries to fuck with destiny, and I think she’s gone to the queen to report my terrible disobedience and breaking of my betrothal.” Jaskier reported. 

“It’s not even a formal betrothal.” Rosethorn exclaimed, the flowers in her hair disappearing abruptly and her eyes flashing a deep green. “Gods above, how willing is Mother to destroy destiny?”

“I told her you would be a better choice anyways and she didn’t seem to like that idea.” Jaskier said, and Rosethorn threw her hands in the air.

“I’ve already been fucking Snowberry for a hundred years! Isn’t that worth anything?” she asked the trees. She got surprisingly coherent and direct when she was angry. 

“That’s what I told her, but she didn’t like that.” Jaskier said. 

“What are we going to do?” Geralt asked. “Is there anything we  _ can _ do?” 

“Think of something we can bargain with the queen to get her to accept that we are tied to each other.” Jaskier said. “And I don’t know if we can do that. We don’t have anything she would value.”

“Sight is a popular choice, especially among you human wanderers who like to take our youngsters and fall in love with them.” Thistle said. “But I suppose that wouldn’t matter at all for you, witcher.”

“ _ Blaidd Gwyn Dall _ .” Rosethorn recited, as if to herself. “I’m sure Mother wasn’t expecting that, was she?”

“We need a plan.” Ciri said sharply. “What about your lute, Jask? That’s valuable. It’s a fucking fancy lute.”

“I am  _ not _ giving up my lute.” Jaskier exclaimed. “And anyways, it’s not an uncommon design around here. It was our father’s.”

“And he was a poor minstrel man who couldn’t afford to give anything but love for a dowry.” Rosethorn said. 

“We could play on that.” Jaskier said, interlocking his fingers through Geralt’s. “Remind her that Papa didn’t give anything for her, so why should Geralt have to give something for me?”

“But he was fae, too, and that makes a difference.” Thistle pointed out. “We can’t let the dirty humans–apologies, witchers–take our people away with them. Word would get out.”

“We wouldn’t tell a soul.” Ciri promised, folding her arms. “Do you really think we’re going to go prancing around telling the world that Geralt got a fairy man for nothing but his love? After what happened to Jaskier that got us in this mess?” Thistle nodded solemnly.

“If my sword weren’t an iron alloy I could give that.” Geralt said slowly. “What about the silver daggers we have for werewolves? Those are valuable.”

“Not to the queen of the Tylwyth Teg.” Rosethorn sang. 

“What the fuck does this damn queen want?” Ciri exclaimed, kicking at a burned log. As if she had been waiting for this very moment, the bushes parted and the queen walked forward into the clearing. Rosethorn and Thistle bowed elaborately, but the witchers stayed stiffly upright. Jaskier, enfolded as he was in Geralt’s arms, merely nodded his head. 

The queen of the Tylwyth Teg of Brokilon forest was tall, taller than Geralt. She had a finely boned face that seemed to end in a point, and her eyes were slightly too large for her delicate face. Her skin was the same brown as the oak trees that populated the forest, and in the right light it had the same texture as them. Her eyes were bright green, like leaves illuminated by sunlight, and her hair was entirely leaves. Right now they were fall colors, and when the winter came and covered the outside world in snow and ice they would fall and reveal the brittle twigs underneath. As a very small child, Jaskier had been afraid of the queen during the winter. She was so thin that without her hair, she looked like one of the skeletal trees that were left after forest fires. Right now, she was dressed in a long robe of shifting colors, the train of which was held by young fairy girls with flowers for hair. Jaskier and Rosethorn’s mother was beside her, a look of suppressed glee on her face, and a small company of fairy soldiers was following the two women. Geralt’s hold on Jaskier tightened even more, and Ciri put her hand on her sword. 

“Now, now, little witcher.” the queen said, smiling indulgently. “Put away your sword. I have not come to fight; this is merely a formality.” The soldiers spread themselves out around the clearing, and Ciri stepped closer to Geralt and Jaskier. Thistle remained in his bow, but Rosethorn straightened up and folded her arms, frowning petulantly at the queen and Blackthorn. Jaskier glanced around at the soldiers and spotted Snowberry wearing the standard armor. She gave him a mischievous smile, and he wondered if her mother had realized she was among the honor guard. It was just like the queen’s daughter to come see drama first hand. “Dandelion ap Tamlane, it has not been long since we have seen you in these woods, but it is good to see you returning once more.”

“My lady.” Jaskier slipped out of Geralt’s arms and went to stand beside Thistle. He offered up his own bow, wincing as his side throbbed in irritation. “It is an honor to be in your presence again.” Fuck, he was slipping back into court talk. “Forgive my feisty companion, for she is not accustomed to being amongst true royalty.” He knew he was going to get cursed out for that later. If there was a later. 

“I understand.” the queen said, nodding in acknowledgement. “Now, it seems your mother has a grievance to present, which involves yourself and this witcher, this  _ Blaidd Gwyn. _ I would hear your side of the story. Blackthorn ferch Dafydd charges that you are conspiring to run away with the  _ Blaidd Gwyn _ and shirk your betrothal to my daughter, Snowberry ferch Silverweed.”

“These charges are mostly true, your majesty.” Jaskier said. 

“Mostly?” his mother exclaimed.

“Mostly.” Jaskier said, shooting her a glance. “I do intend to ‘run away’, as Blackthorn ferch Dafydd charges, with Geralt of Rivia, but I would not say it is running away, or that I am shirking my betrothal. That betrothal was never set in stone. I do not recall the dowry passing hands, and we have not consummated anything. Unless the customs have changed in the short time I have been gone?” 

“You are correct.” the queen said. “However, you may recall that it is our custom that the eldest child of a gentry family is bequeathed to the queen’s daughter, and you are the eldest child of the highest of our gentry.”

“I would defer my place, if that is allowed.” Jaskier said quickly.

“There must be an exchange.” Blackthorn broke in, stepping forward. “We have discussed the dowry I am giving for Dandelion ap Tamlane, your majesty, and I am not sure if this witcher, this  _ Blaidd Gwyn _ has anything that can match it.”

“Who would he be giving tribute to, Mother?” Rosethorn asked, stepping to stand beside Jaskier. “You? The queen? Your pardon, your majesty.” she added, curtsying low.

“It is our custom, although perhaps Dandelion has forgotten in his time among the humans.” Blackthorn said. “We do not give gifts, and there must be an exchange if the witcher would take Dandelion away from the forests forever.”

“If I may speak.” Geralt stepped forward and bowed. Jaskier took his arm and held it tight, daring his mother to do anything. He knew his hair was pure white again, even though it had started turning brown again in the peace of Geralt’s arms. “I am not familiar with your customs, and I have only recently learned anything about the ways of your people. It is not our way, the way of witchers or of humans, to give such exchanges and displays merely to freely love who we desire. Blackthorn verch Dafydd is right.” The fae words sounded strange and awkward in his mouth, and Jaskier held on tighter to his witcher’s arm, praying that the fairies would not mind this attempt to copy them. “I do not have jewels or treasure to give. I have a few sets of clothes. I have my swords, my daggers, my weapons. I have a few small tokens others have given me. I do not know if you want the sparkly rock someone I love dearly gave me as a gift, or the wooden horse my daughter carved for me.” The rock had been a joke gift from Jaskier, and Geralt had kept it in the side pocket of his pack ever since. “I have the work that I do, the work of protecting the people of the villages from monsters that would eat their sheep and take their children.”

“Some would say that the fae do such things.” Blackthorn observed.

“The wounds that I received that brought me here were the result of Geralt of Rivia’s refusal to perform such a task for angry villagers.” Jaskier snapped.

“I would not kill fae for such things. I said, I kill monsters.” Geralt continued. His voice was so calm, but Jaskier could feel how tense he truly was. “The only thing I have to give, and which I have given to Jaskier, to Dandelion ap Tamlane, is my heart. My love. A place to rest his head for the night, even if that place is merely a bedroll under the stars and a warm body to hold. That is all. I am not a rich man, but what I lack in wealth I will make up for in love.” Blackthorn muttered something, but the queen smiled benignly. A single leaf fluttered down from her hair to rest on the grass. 

“Well spoken, witcher.” she said. “I would expect words like that from the bard you have chosen to give your love to. Perhaps poets may be found amongst the knights of your people. For you are a knight, though some may deny it. Only a knight would be so noble.”

“He may be noble, but you cannot allow him to take my son away into the world like this!” Blackthorn exclaimed. “Give him into the hands of….of a  _ blind witcher _ ?” Jaskier stepped forward to shout at her, but Geralt pulled him back. “I demand you follow the rules of our people!” Blackthorn continued, ignoring her son. “Make him give something for Dandelion!”

“What will you offer us, witcher?” the queen asked. “What can you give?” Jaskier hesitated, then wriggled out of Geralt’s hands and stepped forward. He had had an idea. He knew Geralt would not like it, but it was the best thing they could do. 

“Geralt has nothing to give, but I have something.” he said. “Maybe you will accept that as a replacement.”

“Jaskier, what are you doing?” Geralt exclaimed.

“Dandelion…” Thistle said, then trailed off.

“Dandelion, stop it!” Blackthorn snapped. “Don’t you dare…” 

“I will give you my immortality and my magic.” Jaskier continued, and his mother’s face went white with shock. “I will become human, and live for as long as Geralt does, so that I may spend the rest of his life with him and not have to live without him. Surely that is enough of a trade for the love of a blind witcher?” He stared directly at his mother and her tightly drawn mouth. The queen seemed amused and surprised by his declaration.

“I was not expecting this of you, Dandelion ap Tamlane.” she said. “It is not a choice many make. Do you truly wish to make such a sacrifice for your love?” Jaskier turned back to look at Geralt, who was staring at him with a mixture of anxiety and pride on his face.

“It is a good sacrifice if it means I may live out the rest of my days with the man that I love.” Jaskier said, holding Geralt’s gaze in his own. He turned back to the queen. 

“Dandelion, I forbid it!” Blackthorn cried. “Throwing away your magic, your  _ life _ ! Is a witcher really worth all that?” 

“Yes.” Jaskier said. “Yes.” The queen smiled, raised her hands, and began to chant. 

\------

A wind began to blow through the trees. Geralt’s hair blew into his face, and he pushed it back. The queen had begun her spell in a speaking voice, but as the wind began to pick up she raised her voice above its sound. Soon, she was shouting up to the canopy. The wind began to center itself around Jaskier, and Geralt watched as a whirlwind surrounded his lover and began to lift him above the ground. Leaves and grass and a few flowers joined the air flow until Jaskier was completely surrounded. Geralt wanted to run towards him, but when he moved to do so he was grabbed by Ciri and Rosethorn. The fairy woman was much stronger than her ethereal frame suggested, and he could feel her sharp fingernails pressing against his skin through his shirt. 

“Don’t interfere with the spell.” she warned. Geralt could feel a few vines curling around his ankles, as if she were worried he would try to pull against her hands. “It will only go bady for both of you.”

“What is it going to do to him?” Geralt asked, watching as Jaskier’s shape was further obscured by plant life. Rosethorn shrugged.

“Make him human, I expect.” she said. “No one has ever done something like this. It’s always you humans who like to sacrifice things for love. He really has gone native.” The chanting rose and fell, then rose again. Rosethorn hummed quietly. “This is a long spell she’s doing. But I suppose it is complex. It’s just like Dandelion to think of something so dramatic. He takes after Papa. Oh, and look at Mother. She’s  _ angry _ .” Geralt looked, but Blackthorn was so far away that he could not make out her expression. The way she was standing certainly indicated anger; her hands were balled into fists and her shoulders were stiff. 

“She won’t try to do anything, will she?” Ciri asked.

“Once Dandelion is no longer fae, there’s nothing she can do.” Rosethorn said absently, watching as Jaskier contorted in the wind. If it were not through the hands and plants holding him, Geralt would have run to him at that moment. “He gave the proper compensation, and now he is yours.” Jaskier let out a drawn out cry, and Geralt lunged forward only to be neatly swept by Rosethorn and her vines. He hit the ground and was up in an instant. Rosethorn regarded him with her yellow eyes. Close up, he could see that her pupils were like a cat’s. “You are noble,  _ Blaidd Gwyn,  _ but you cannot interfere with the magic.” she said. There was a final shout from the queen, and a final gust of wind, and Jaskier came falling back to earth in a cloud of leaves. Geralt ran to him, leaping deftly over the vines. Rosethorn did nothing to stop him. 

Jaskier was kneeling in the grass, breathing hard. Geralt dropped down beside him and took his face into his shaking hands. The green that had glowed beneath his skin when he had come running to Geralt only a half-hour earlier was gone, and his hair was the soft brown Geralt was familiar with. As he looked, Geralt was surprised to find a few strands of gray in it. 

“Jaskier,” he began, then lost the thread of what he was trying to say. Jaskier smiled at him and ran his fingers over Geralt’s face.

“Did it make me as old and wrinkly as you?” he asked, teasingly.

“Fuck you, Jask.” Geralt murmured, his voice abruptly getting choked up. Jaskier laughed, and it was the same ringing and ridiculous laugh it had always been. Geralt pulled him in for a kiss and found that his bard was crying. Or was he crying? They were both crying and laughing and kissing and holding so tight to each other.


	9. Among the leaves so green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They leave the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's taen her by the milk-white hand,  
> Among the leaves sae green,  
> And what they did I cannot tell.  
> The green leaves were between. -“Tam Lin” (Child Ballad 39I)
> 
> Hello! This chapter is posting a little later than I usually post, mostly because I forgot to earlier. Be sure to read the end note for some fun acknowledgements if you're into that sort of thing! I'm very pleased that part of Tam Lin could work for a chapter title definitely not out of self-indulgence (I may not be named after him but it is fun to have another dude out there named Tam, fictional or not). Thank you so much for reading!!!

Geralt woke up the morning after Jaskier’s decision to find that he was alone in their bedroll. It was early morning, and the sunlight had barely begun to shine through the canopy. He sat up and looked around the trees. Jaskier had not gone far. He was sitting with his feet in the stream that flowed from the dryad’s pool and along the border of the clearing, watching the sunrise. Geralt picked his way across the grass and sat down next to the bard. It was a chilly morning, but the water felt nice on his feet. Jaskier did not say anything, but leaned his head on Geralt’s shoulder and snuggled close. There was a quiet splash as a small animal Geralt couldn’t identify hopped out of the water next to them and disappeared into the bracken.

“It’s strange,” Jaskier murmured. “We came here thinking I would never be able to leave, and now I don’t think I’ll ever come back.” 

“Hmm.” Geralt had been thinking about that. He stroked Jaskier’s hair and wondered how often before now he had touched it and had felt the illusion rather than the real hair.It was a strange thing to contemplate. 

“I don’t even know if I’m happy.” Jaskier continued. “How am I supposed to know how I’ll feel in forty, fifty years when I’m old and decrepit?” He hesitated. “When do humans start becoming elderly? How old am I actually? Fuck, this is complicated.”

“You told me you were eighteen when we met.” Geralt said. “So you ought to be almost fifty now.”

“It’s not like you’d know anything about aging either.” Jaskier mused.

“No, that’s true.” Geralt admitted. He was about one hundred years old at this point. He wasn’t actually sure; he had stopped keeping track once he had passed his teenage years. 

“In any case, I’ll live as long as you. No more, no less.” Jaskier said. “That’s what the spell decided.”

“That specific?”

“We fae love specifics.” Jaskier said. “If you ask for something, you get it. I suppose I’ll probably age the same as you, too.”

“What happens when I die violently in battle? Do you die the same way?”

“We’ll just have to find that out.”

“Hmm.” 

“I am glad I chose this.” Jaskier said. “I wouldn’t have done it any other way. Even if you were the richest man in the world and gave the queen more jewels and treasures than she could ever imagine. I think I would have given up my immortality anyways. I don’t know what I would do if I lived forever.”

“Wander the continent weeping for your lost love and haunting the places we once went together.” Geralt suggested. 

“I like that idea. If only I had thought of it sooner.” Jaskier laughed and kissed Geralt on the neck. “I’ll just have to become a ghost after we die.”

“Then we can wander the continent together and haunt Yen and her sorcerer friends.” Geralt said. 

“Together. I like that.” Jaskier twined his leg around Geralt’s and began to tickle the back of his leg with his toes. They sat watching the sun finally come up over the horizon and chase away the early morning mist that drifted between the trees. 

There was not much to do in the forest. Ciri disappeared off into the forest to ‘take care of business’, but by the winking way she said it Geralt suspected she was using her supposed business as a farce to give him and Jaskier the space to be alone together. It was welcome. Jaskier and Geralt took solitary walks that lasted as long as Jaskier’s gradually returning endurance could stand, sometimes talking but usually admiring the trees that surrounded them. Geralt was glad just to hold his bard’s hand and remember that he had not lost him, that his sleepless nights spent making sure Jaskier was still breathing had not been in vain. There were animals that Geralt did not know lived in the forests, but Jaskier could tell him what each one was and paint a picture of what they looked like for him. The second night, when they were no longer overwhelmed by the sheer amount of things that had occured, he had taken out his lute and sat staring at it for a long time.

“Are you going to play something?” Geralt asked cautiously.

“I don’t know if I can.” Jaskier said slowly, running his fingers over the carvings of flowers on the body of the instrument. “This is a fairy lute. It was my father’s, and his father’s before him.” He held it, then strummed a hesitant chord. It sounded no different from when he had played it the last time, the night before they had ridden into that accursed forest. He smiled. “It must be just a lute, then. It was probably always our inherent magic.”

“And you’ve still got that.” Ciri joked.

“Oh, I know.” Jaskier played a dramatic chord on his lute and tossed his hair. Geralt shook his head in shame. Jaskier had played them a rousing round of songs that Geralt had been unable to resist singing along to, and later when Ciri had gone off to where she was sleeping, “just so you can have some time to yourselves”, he had sung a series of quiet love songs intended for Geralt and Geralt alone. Losing his immortality had not taken his way with words, nor his knowledge of where Geralt liked best to be touched.

On the third day, Jaskier was much better, but the dryads thought it best if they waited a day before getting out on the road. Geralt was fine with spending another day in peace, but he knew Jaskier wanted to leave. The bard was restless and kept wandering off into the woods alone. Geralt worried, but he knew that it was best to just let Jaskier get his nervous energy out. He had traveled with him for too many years to not know the consequences of forcing Jaskier to stay in one place when he needed to get up and run around. Ciri dragged him into joining her in hiking through the forest. 

“I’m ready to head out.” she sighed as they sat under a tree and ate the bread and fruit they had brought for a trail lunch. “I’m tired of just trees. It’s beautiful, but I want to be back on the road.” 

“Hmm.” Geralt tore a piece of soft bread off of the loaf and ate it, studying the patterns of light on the ground. The grass was still damp from rain the previous night, and the glitter of it attracted his eyes. 

“And we’re too close to those fairies.” Ciri glanced towards the north of the forest. “I don’t trust Jaskier’s mother to not pull something.”

“I think their way is to leave humans alone, unless they trespass.” Geralt said. 

“Their way is also to listen to their seers, and yet.” Ciri huffed and peeled her orange. Geralt was worried about Blackthorn, too, but he didn’t want to voice his fears. Some strange, superstitious part of him was convinced that if he did, they would be true. “The dryads are fiercely territorial, though, so we should be fine. Unless she pulls something  _ really _ out there.” Ciri continued. “I just, I don’t know.” She threw her peels into the trees and sighed. “Maybe I’m being paranoid.”

“You’re being perfectly reasonable, little lioness.” Ciri and Geralt both leapt to their feet, swords in hand, and Thistle peeled himself out of the shadows and smiled a pointy smile. “Us fairies, we’re everywhere.” 

“Oh my  _ fucking _ gods, you bastard.” Ciri grumbled, picking up her orange and brushing the dirt off of it. “I thought the dryads didn’t like you fae people coming into their part of the forest.”

“They don’t like  _ Rosethorn _ coming into their part of the forest because she and her sisters are awful and chaotic people who cause trouble.” Thistle clarified. He snatched a few of the sliced and dried apples and ate them. “Where’s Dandelion?”

“Pacing.” Geralt said, gathering up the remains of their lunch and returning it to his belt pouch. “We were just about to go back if you want to come with us.” He slipped his hand into the crook of Ciri’s elbow, and they set off down the path.

“Oh, sure.” Thistle said. “How have things been out here in dryad country?”

“Slow.” Ciri said. “We’ve played a lot of Gwent and taken a lot of hikes.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing while Jaskier and I have gone on walks?” Geralt asked. “Hiking?”

“What else would I be doing?” Ciri asked, and for some reason Thistle cackled. Geralt stared between them, wondering what secret joke they had developed. 

“Hmm.” he said and returned his focus to carefully seeking out obstacles with the toes of his boots so he could avoid tripping. They made their way back to the clearing in relative silence. Jaskier was sitting against a tree plucking his lute and singing softly to himself. 

“You must have wandered far to find that asshole.” he quipped, standing and going to give Thistle a hug. 

“Greeting me before your husband? My goodness, Dandelion, you are cold.” Thistle commented. Jaskier frowned at him and made up for his supposed faux paux by giving Geralt a deep and passionate kiss. Ciri rolled her eyes and went over to the campsite.

“Am I your husband now?” Geralt asked, slipping his arm around Jaskier’s waist. 

“Under fae law, yes.” Jaskier said. “But you can be whatever you want, because we don’t have to give a shit about the fae law.” 

“It’s about time you were husbands.” Thistle commented. “How long have you been together, thirty years? That’s more than enough time.”

“Not romantically for all that time. Humans think about things like that differently.” Jaskier said. Thistle shook his head.

“Oh, humans.” he said. “I will never understand them.” They walked across the clearing to join Ciri. 

“Has anything been happening since...you know?” Jaskier asked Thistle. 

“Oh, sure it has.” Thistle said. “Your lovely mother is angry, but now that she’s officially tied to the queen she can’t do anything or it would make her look bad in the eyes of the court. There’s nothing like defying the border laws to get the queen to break off a second betrothal.”

“So Rosethorn gets what she’s wanted this whole time. Good.” Jaskier patted Geralt’s thigh. “When is it going to be set in stone?”

“The dowries were exchanged last night.” Thistle said. “Blackthorn didn’t want to worry about another child running off and falling in love with some witcher or something.” He shot a glance at Ciri, and Geralt frowned at his daughter.

“Mother didn’t need to worry about Rosethorn.” Jaskier said. “She doesn’t want to go wandering. She always took more after Mother. In love with the forest, is Rosethorn.”

“People are starting to whisper that men of your line are cursed.” Thistle said. “I hope that Rosethorn and Snowberry don’t bear any sons, because no one will want to have anything to do with them.”

“People are stupid.” Jaskier said, picking a blade of grass and tearing it in two. “Father and I were not cursed. Father was just unlucky, and me? I was very, very lucky.” He smiled in a sultry way at Geralt. 

“Or perhaps I was unlucky.” Geralt countered. “My destiny seems to be determined to burden me with a family of strange and wild people. Jaskier pouted at him, and Thistle sniggered.

“Without us you’d still be moping in Kaer Morhen wondering why no one loves you.” Ciri pointed out. “Like a fool.” Geralt made a face at her, and Jaskier patted his face.

“You are lucky, love.” he said. “At the very least you got the hottest bard on the continent for a lover.”

“I don’t know, I’ve always had a bit of a thing for Valdo Marx.” Geralt said cheekily. Jaskier gasped in horror and tackled him. 

“How  _ dare _ you!” he shrieked, slapping his hands uselessly against Geralt’s iron abdominal muscles. “How DARE you!” They rolled across the clearing, Geralt laughing and Jaskier shifting from unbridled rage to cheerful glee and back again. “You are an awful, cruel, evil man, Geralt of Rivia.” Jaskier grumbled finally when they had come to a stalemate. Geralt, who had gained the high ground and had pinned the vengeful bard to the ground, rolled off of him and lay in the grass, laughing quietly. 

“Do you see what I have to deal with every day?” Ciri asked Thistle. 

“Oh, dear Cirilla. I had to deal with that for hundreds of years before you were even born.” Thistle said. 

\------

They left on a bright and sunny day. The wind in the trees was a pleasant backdrop to the packing that went on in the clearing. Jaskier had spent the previous night alone with Thistle, talking about the years they had missed and the years he would be gone. It had been a bitter parting, but not an angry one. Thistle understood why Jaskier was leaving. He, too, was leaving the forest, to be with his beloved Loch-òir. He would be a laird at last, and would no longer be pretending when he cheerfully introduced himself as such. Even though they had said their goodbyes already, Jaskier couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering north.

“Are you ready to go?” Geralt asked him gently. The horses were saddled and the bags were strapped on. 

“I don’t know.” Jaskier murmured, leaning into Geralt’s side. “I think so. But…”

“You still have to say goodbye to  _ me _ , at least.” Rosethorn traipsed out of the woods and pouted at him. “I am your favorite sister, after all.”

“It’s not hard to have a favorite sister. Have you met the rest of our siblings?” Jaskier countered, slipping out from under Geralt’s arm to hug his sister. “How did you get past the dryads?”

“Gentle persuasion.” Rosethorn said, smiling. “They understand sisterly love.”

“Oh, do they?” 

“I’ve also been bribing them for about a week now to come visit.” 

“And there it is.” Jaskier shook his head. “Shall we go somewhere else, away from these puny humans?” 

“Not so puny.” Rosethorn said. “Your witcher has some meat on his bones. And...well, I do like a woman who can hold her own against the fairies.” Something strange twinkled in her eyes, and Jaskier pulled away from her to stare in shock at his sister and at Ciri.

“ _Cirilla Fiona Riannon_.” he exclaimed. “Is _that_ where you’ve been going this _whole_ _time_?” Geralt made a face that indicated he had also picked up on Rosethorn’s innuendo.

“I’m allowed to fuck whoever I want, Jaskier. I am well past childhood now.” Ciri said, juting her chin out at him.

“You fucked my  _ sister _ !” Jaskier protested. 

“Ciri is right, Jask.” Geralt said, something resembling a smile sneaking across his face.

“I damn well did fuck you sister, and it was the best fuck I’ve had.” Ciri said. Rosethorn snickered.

“I don’t fucking want to...you know what, fine! I’ll have to live with this knowledge for the rest of my life, but I can accept it.” Jaskier threw his hands in the air. “Now, it’s time for me to say goodbye to my awful sister who  _ fucked _ my lover’s daughter.” He stalked into the woods, leaving a laughing Ciri and a bemused Geralt behind.

“We are about the same age, she and I.” Rosethorn commented once they were standing in a private enough place. “And she is very beautiful. Almost as beautiful as my wife.”

“My gods, Rosethorn, I had forgotten how  _ horny _ you can be.” Jaskier sat down on a tree stump and stared up at his sister. “What a way to say goodbye.”

“What more were you expecting?” Rosethorn asked, grinning. She sat down on the grass in front of him and sighed. It took a lot to get Rosethorn to be serious, but it had happened. “I can’t believe you’re leaving, Dandelion. It’s...I know why, but it’s like losing Papa all over again.”

“I know, Rosebud.” Jaskier sighed. Gods, he was getting sentimental now. Using old childhood nicknames. “It’s what I want, though. It’s what’s best.”

“That’s what makes it harder.” Rosethorn ran her fingers over the grass, and flowers sprung up where she touched. “They’re saying our family is cursed. That our menfolk are drawn to the humans and are lost to the humans.”

“I’m not cursed.” Jaskier said. “Cursed with love, maybe. I was never going to stay in the forest. You know that.”

“I know.” Rosethorn sighed. “I’m happy for you. Really, I am. I’m just...I’ll miss you. It won’t be the same, knowing you’re never coming back. At least before you were coming back when you were done with your witcher. Now, you’re going to die with him and be gone forever.”

“The humans believe in ghosts.” Jaskier said. “Maybe they’re right.” 

“Would you come back?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss an opportunity to cause more chaos than I can in life.” Rosethorn smiled.

“That’s what I expect.” she said. They sat in silence for a long moment, then stood in unison and embraced. Jaskier could feel that his sister was holding him tighter than usual.

“Go be with that beautiful wife of yours.” he said when they finally disconnected. “Have more children than our sisters so you can overpower them by sheer numbers.” Rosethorn laughed.

“I’ll name all of them after you.” she said. “Dandelion 1...Dandelion 2…”

“That’s exactly what I expect.” Jaskier said. 

“Now, you’ve better go back to your witcher.” Rosethorn said. “Go be happy.” She smiled at him. They hesitated, then turned and walked their separate ways into the forest. Geralt and Ciri were waiting by the horses when Jaskier returned to the clearing. He kissed Geralt, ruffled Ciri’s hair to mild protest, and swung himself up into Pegasus’ saddle.

“Let’s go.” he said. They nudged their horses into a walk and went slowly through the trees and over the Ribbon into the world once again. Jaskier did not look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's the end of this fic! Of course, the first people I'd like to thank are you all. Thank you for reading and commenting and otherwise engaging with this little story of mine! I see all your comments and I read all of them and I treasure them deeply. Special special thanks goes to my dear friend Lizzy, who endures my random texts with foolish questions about her existence as a blind person and helped make this fic closer to an authentic portrayal of living while blind as I, a sighted person, could make it. Obviously it wasn't perfect all the time but I'm grateful for Lizzy and her feedback. Additional thanks to Eva, the most perfect guide dog in the world who I love very much. Also shout-out to Molly Burke on YouTube for all the work she does supporting the blind community and educating others! My beta readers Mabel and Chloe mostly just yelled at me for my terrible actions but I appreciated their feedback anyway. Again, thank you so much for reading! I appreciate you and I hope you'll check out my other fics. Not sure when my current WIP will start posting (it's a long one!) but get hype for College AU: AKA Your Lovely Author Misses Being On Campus. Stay safe and healthy out there! I love you!!


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